Saved in His Hell: How I Learned to Stop Worrying & Love the Timeline
by TheArchitectOfFate
Summary: When the Nothing threatens everything at the end of the 41st millennium, it is up to the chaos god Tzeentch to repair reality. He sends numerous humanoid avatars imbued with his willpower back through the past. 9x fandom crossover: WH40k, Saved by the Bell, The Neverending Story, Ginger Snaps, Twin Peaks, Rick & Morty, Doctor Who, Event Horizon, Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure.
1. This is not for You

_This is not for you._

**012.M3**

The computer room was dark. Guttering shadows gave the little alcove a haunted appearance. A young man of 18 sat, humming merrily to himself as he browsed the internet. He was looking at some funny stories. He had a thing for interesting tales, and he was always so terribly curious to see how different scenarios would play out, even if they terminated in absurd ends. Something caught his eye that brought him pause; he stopped, mouth agape. His eyes skimmed the summary of a particularly bizarre topic, a crossover/fusion of at least nine completely unrelated stories knitted together! "How on earth could the author even manage that?" he questioned to no one in particular. Wow! Quickly reading a few paragraphs, he shook his blond head. "No," he calculated, "this particular story was too unlikely, too improbable, and too insane to ever be considered! These stories had nearly no common elements, and therefore, would be incompatible."

He laughed a little as he browsed off the fanfiction website. Oh, internet! You're so crazy! He clicked on a new tab, which depicted an elaborate sculpture of a birdlike humanoid creature, insanity in its eyes and magic screaming from its beak. And, expensive on the wallet, he considered with a whistle. His keen black eyes caught something unusual. "Why is Keres is wearing white here? For shame! No white after Labor Day! Autumn was for darker colors, so he was _supposed _to be wearing black! A difference!" he thought triumphantly. Leaning forward, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a black book. With a quick notation, the black book went back into his pocket. "If these innocuous differences were the only ones he was enountering so far, then perhaps time has been amended and the future saved. M42 wouldn't be the end!" he thought happily with relief. Everything had worked out afterall! His last trip had not been in vain!

Feeling pleased, he leaned back on his computer chair with a stretch, and put one white shoe over his knee as he clicked on the next tab to watch his favorite show. "Screech, I know we can get some total babes if we-" he laughed. He reached for an apple perched next to the monitor. Suddenly, he paused, his dark eyes as cold as the black behind the void of space. Something was wrong, very wrong. A shift. He felt a piece of himself somewhere fracture, and then reform. A new bruise in space and time spread across both the recent past and the near future. Something terrible had happened. Angry yelling rang in his mind from somewhere far away, and then, silence. The aftermath of the mysterious event caused a ripple of causality through him. With a snap, an unusual soggy orange hamburger appeared into existence next to the apple. He held his breath, and pursed his lips at the hated new thing.

He narrowed his black eyes at the sudden sandwich. Here we fucking go _again_, he fumed. "The nerve of him. The absolute nerve." he growled internally.

The timeline had been damaged. Someone had tried to stop him.

Shrugging, he took out his black notebook once more, and began writing angrily. "Malo nodo malus quaerendus cuneus..." he said to himself as he wrote. He picked up the hamburger and threw it over his shoulder to land perfectly into the trash can behind him. The trash can, and all its contents, burst into flames and vanished.

"Smooth!" he congratulated himself as he finally began to munch on his apple. Due to someone having the nerve to fuck with him, the timeline now had some new breaks that required fixing in order to make sure it advanced according to his plans. While complex, it was certainly within his capability. The code for reality needed to be edited. Again.

His mood dipped toward mild irritability colored with vindictive spite, and he decided then that he wanted to watch a different episode. The blond teenager had to now account for the slightly divergent timeline and fix that one too. It was an annoyance, but it gave him something to keep him busy in the lighthearted brightness of the distant past, anyway. A young woman wearing bright clothes and crowned with frizzy hair was crying out as a familiar young blond haired man tried to comfort her. "I'm so excited!" she shouted maniacally.

**018.M3**

Reality flickered, glitched, and reformed, new threads of fate pulling into a new tapestry of outcomes. He remained, but was somewhere new, and was also someone new.

It was natural for him, being a chaos god and all.

The blond youth was still sitting at his computer, munching his fruit. He flinched as a ripple of expansive power imperceptible to mere mortals as the sensation of many fixed points in time died, realigned, repositioned, and renewed. Time was clay in the many hands of the Grand Conspirator, and all actions were chapters in his new story. The different aspects of himself housed in a sundry of differently human-skinned simulacrums were hard at work across space time, fixing, and amending any temporal anomaly they could find. Fate was his domain, and he had to be sure everything progressed as it should, no matter who was getting in his way. The mortals would never thank him, but such was his fate. He held out a small hand, regarding the older, paler skin of this different form. In this particular place, he was actually in a different body, far from where he had been before, but he still saw himself as the blond teen, so he decided to describe himself as that. It would be good for continuity and everything, he thought.

"I'm so excited!" the teenage girl on the television show said again as he made a note in his black notebook. Classic.

"I'm so... scared," she said, her excitement faded into fearful whimpering. For the briefest of moments, she actually looked over the shoulder of the blond teenager in the television show, and through the screen at him. She was indeed frightened, and she looked away, watery confused tears in her eyes. This did not surprise him.

"You better be scared, Jessie," he chuckled portentously as he ate the pear, watching the delightful reoccurring chaos at Bayside High. "_All _of you better be scared," he smiled darkly, "So little to do, and so much time to kill." he wanly considered once again, turning his attention back to his computer, hazel-green eyes glittering.

He fucking loved this show.


	2. The Beginning is the End

**012.M3**

"I swear to God!" Glenn hurled his tiny plastic and metal soldiers to the floor, as well as accidentally toppling their transport vehicle. His opponent flinched, and watched as two other vehicles briefly wobbled and fell from their display. All fell to the game shop's floor with a cringe inducing smash. "There's something in those damn dice! You didn't buy them here, I bet!"

"I most certainly did," Zac rolled his dark eyes as he motioned for the remaining soldiers to be removed from the playing field. Clenching his jaw as he smirked, he tapped his fingers on the table. "The dice don't lie!" With a quick thought, he conjured a rumpled piece of paper in his back pocket, "I even have my receipt with me!"

With a flourish, Zac produced the receipt from his back pocket. "Voila!" He let it flutter down to the table for dramatic effect, keeping his eyes pinned on Glenn's. "I really am just that good!"

Glenn glowered at the receipt, snagged on a commissar's peaked cap on the gaming table. The scene was rather comical to Zac, who ignored Glenn's red faced whining as he Cheeto-fisted some guardsmen off the field. They had been destroyed by a warp bolt resulting from yet another unlikely roll of all 5s and 6s. The little piece of paper gave the appearance of that a sheet of snow had fallen perfectly upon the ruined squad. Only the commissar remained alive; a very lucky man, Zac considered. Before fucking Glenn could ruin it, Zac took a mental image. Seven toy soldiers and three toy sleighs, waiting by a tree. He giggled. This should be good! But first, something new and unexpected to spice things up!

As Glenn stood there growling like a surly hound removing his slaughtered squad, Zac removed a small wolf-like figurine from his pocket, about twice the size of the commissar. It was a converted astral hound, lovingly painted in blacks, greys, and with shining green eyes. He playfully tossed the figurine in the air from hand to hand as he waited for Glenn to finish removing all his pieces. With whimsy, he briefly placed it next to the commissar and made a "grrrr!" sound while making it "dance." Glenn shot Zac an angry look. "Can you like, not?"

"Nah, I think I can! Sure, this puppy isn't a part of my game, but I can see it getting attracted by all the noise and chaos, and I like to role play!" Zac left the wolf figurine next to the commissar, and began to pet it with a slender finger. "I wonder what those dudes down there are thinking, getting nailed by that long range bolt? Sucks to be them, huh?" He indicated his chaos army, lurking hidden in the "valley" of the terrain of the table.

**995.M41**

...somewhere, distant and nearly inconceivable to anyone but the largest of dweebs in the game shop, a team of Imperial Guardsmen trundled their way through the forested mountains of a feral world named Carlos McConnell. They had been ordered there to investigate reports of a probable Chaos incursion somewhere in the wilderness, and they had been ordered to climb up a mountain road to offer distant firepower support, if required. Or, that is what Commissar Mattieu Keres interpreted from the general's vague instructions. He was a man of almost 27, strong in heart and body with optimistic green eyes and a head full of short, wavy brown hair, normally hidden under his peaked cap. He would often take to running his fair-skinned hand through his hair when anxious, of which he was doing presently, his cap on his lap. They had been on the move for over twenty hours with only minor breaks for food and hygiene, so most of his soldiers were in a surly mood, the good Commissar included. Not than anyone would complain, he supposed, as he rode along in the front most Chimera. Behind him, in order, a Basilisk and another Chimera rolled along through the muddy road in the growing warmth of the day.

"And this, Diana?" the dark robed, early middle-aged Inquisitor seated to the Commissar's left continued his lessons with his new acolyte. He pointed to something in a book with great care, tapping his finger. "Write the answer, my dear, since saying this one's name might cause a bit of an issue." the man emphasized word "bit" with a dry chuckle. After a few seconds of writing, the Inquisitor said "Very good! When we make camp soon, I'll tell you more about him. You're doing great!" The woman, a recently-titled Inquisitorial acolyte named Diana, thanked him graciously. He closed the book which was then placed with care in a dark satchel near his legs. He paused for a moment, his eyes strangely far away, and seemed to have an idea. "Diana, dear, I think you might be ready for a chapter in the other book. Bring it out."

She nodded with a smile as they rounded another bump along the road as she began to rummage in her rucksack. Mattieu caught Diana's sky blue gaze for a heartbeat. Her wild platinum hair coupled with her acerbic personality made her a popular character, and with Mattieu in particular. His feelings had become embarrassingly strong recently, and had developed further over previous missions. She had been a fine soldier, but she had recently been taken under the wing of an Inquisitor named Ricard that also found himself attached to Mattieu's units. Witch hunters, such as he, were invaluable assets when rooting out any probable daemonic activity, and now, brave Diana was taking her first steps upon that long road. He unconsciously grinned, proud. At his thoughts of her, Mattieu felt his ears flush in self-consciousness. As much as he would desire to tell her of his feelings, such relationships were frowned upon while on deployment, and Mattieu took his position seriously.

Producing a large, leather bound tome, Diana set the massive book on her lap, nearly covering her legs. It was a mysterious book, only brought out on rare occasion. The inquisitor did not seem to think it was particularly dangerous, as he considered the other one, but he did instruct her to read certain chapters at certain times. His squad was impossibly curious, but for the most part, they both kept secret about what was in that book. On the cover, a symbol resembling two serpents eating their own tails in a knot shown in the subdued, dirty yellow light inside of the tank. As she opened the book, Mattieu equalized his ears from the pressure change of the mountain climb, and he grumbled. Damn, he swore internally, command was incompetent sometimes. This nigh blasphemous thought was only one of a couple Mattieu allowed himself. Secretly, he strongly disagreed with the good General's decision to head to their destination coordinates. He had stated that the reason they were climbing was, verbatim, "-to have a good line-ah sight in case, um, everything went bad" which he had cringed to hear. Nevertheless, he obeyed. From time to time, Mattieu contemplated that they were just toys for the General to play with from the erratic instructions he frequently received.

He wasn't happy, but when his eyes caught the tiny pet tortise peeking curiously through a pocket in Diana's grey robes, he relaxed a bit. His assigned men were exceptional and often had good cheer, enough so that he looked the other way concerning this non-regulation pet. The cute little hand-sized reptile was the unofficial 'mascot', found on the ship on the way over; The driver had jokingly dubbed it "Ancient One", since it had the face of an angry little grandfather. It made an adorable little squeak as the acolyte found her place on the page.

As Diana began to read the book, the tank abruptly stopped. It seemed to be stuck on something, as a strained grinding filled his ears. "Emperor damn it!" he heard the young driver seated above bark.

"We're stuck on a tree root. Or something. I can't really tell." one of the other men near Mattieu had begun to peer up out of the hatch. He looked expectantly down at Mattieu. "Sir?" While he could just order one of his men to fix the problem, the Commissar was often consulted for mechanical advice, as he was quite familiar with this particular tank and it's quirks.

"Sir? What should we do?"

Leave it to that driver to just want to sit on his arse all day. "Well, I guess if you need the job done well, you need to do it yourself," he reflected as he fastened his coat. Mattieu did indeed know a thing or two about mechanics, and decided that he wanted to stretch his legs anyway. The driver, named Tal, crawled down with the other man and gave a nod to the commissar.

Mattieu placed his cap on his head once again. The young man clambered down from the ladder and back into the interior of the tank with the rest of the squad. Tal sat next to Diana as she continued to read the book and leaned into her. "Hey cutie!" Mattieu heard him sleaze as he climbed up. This wasn't uncommon behavior from him. Someone would be getting a reprimand later.

The young Commissar emerged from the hatch, his cheeks briefly stinging from the misty mountain wind. He looked around. There didn't seem to be any sort of tree root or obstacle marring their passage. Curious, he thought. The wind moaned down from the cliff side to their left like the howl of a daemon, giving Mattieu a further chill. He pulled himself up and climbed down out of the tank to have a further look.

∞**/995.M41**

Mist billowed around him, obscuring his vision. With slight dizziness, he began to walk around the Chimera, searching for the snare. He could hear complaints and arguing from his earpiece inside the tank. "What is this book here you're reading, anyway?" he heard Tal tease to her. Mattieu decided to lean down and inspect the treads of the vehicle.

Between some of the machinery, he saw what appeared to be two green eyes staring at him. He jumped backward, nearly falling. What on Terra?

It was then that he turned, and saw the hateful orbs, as big as teacups, gazing at him from within an arm's length of his face. It was now outside of the tank, somehow! He had not seen it move! Ahead of them, a gigantic too-human wolf-like face snarled sharp impossible teeth, and vicious twisted hand claws gripped the ground before him. It regarded Mattieu balefully as the it began to growl with a horrible inhuman warble. His squad continued to argue, Tal insisting that she read him a passage from the book. "Come on now, this isn't the big scary daemon book! This isn't real. It's only a story! Stop being so serious!"

"Fine," Mattieu heard her concede as the wolf-thing-beast opened its mouth and began to make words. "No Diana, no," he gasped.

The beast and Diana both began in the same voice, "The more of Fantasia that is destroyed, the more lies flooded the human world, and the more unlikely it becomes that a child of man should come to Fantasia," It said at the very same moment she had said the same words through his earpiece. It seemed to laugh, and licked its jaws. It snuffled the air near him, seeming to inhale his scent. Inclining its head downward, it began to cough into the space around them. A terrible misty nothing seemed to consume everything around Mattieu, leaving him alone with the beast on a grey island of something. The creature seemed pleased with the oblivion around it as it glanced from side to side, turning once again to regard Mattieu with its unnatural emerald eyes. It began again, gurgling laughter like fluid in the lungs of a dying man, shaking its massive head, as big as a human torso. "It is a vicious circle that there is no escape. The warriors of hope will be found, and Nothing shall be the reward!"

**995.M41**

The moment passed with a blink, and the Commissar found himself next to the Chimera, blinking. The weather was sunny and pleasant. He turned from side to side, searching for the wolf-thing. He took a few deep breaths, and heard Diana's laughter at the teasing of their driver. The driver had apparently simply spilled water all over a shifting mechanism, causing the tank to momentarily short out. The problem had apparently now been fixed. Everyone was tired, and likely a little delirious from their far climb upward. He, and his squad, had simply been working too hard, he decided. There was no evidence of daemonic activity in their landscape, and it simply appeared as if he had greyed out a touch from being awake too long coupled with the exertion of breathing mountain air. He had been having nightmares lately, anyway. With a brief smile of relief, he climbed back into the Chimera.

"Everything okay in here?" he nervously laughed once inside again, making jokes about the driver's butterfingers. Smiles all around, and Tal climbed back into his seat and began to advance their transport further. Mattieu closed his eyes and took a sip of a warm cup of recaf he had been offered. With a few deep breaths, he had settled again.

After a few minutes or so of climbing, he felt his vehicle turn left, go a short distance, and halt. Sighs of relief echoed through the cramped interior. A crackle in his earpiece from the two sergeants in the other transports confirmed their coordinates, and their astropath in the rearmost Chimera was given the go ahead to contact high command to report their arrival at their destination point. Oh, thank Emperor, we're finally here.

Mattieu briefed his soldiers before giving the order to disembark. They were to set up camp, prep the Basilisk for any usage once it arrives, and simply wait for the enemy to make an appearance, of which there was zero sign of at the moment. With a "hup!" each soldier climbed out, along with Ricard who complained of his knees being too sore for this with a jolly laugh, smoothing his long robes out and adjusting his broad-brimmed hat. The last soldier climbed up, and the Commissar followed. The driver stayed behind inside the tank, ordered to clean up his mess from his earlier spill. That soldier was not going to have a good time later with the amount of mistakes he had been making,

After a brief stretch, Mattieu then pulled himself up, and sat atop the tank, a kindly gargoyle overseeing their efforts. He observed as the small group began settling in on some damp ground nearby under some trees. Others warned their compatriots about the ledge, and how they had only driven approximately three meters from the drop-off in the last leg of their climb. They had stopped at a small wooded clearing on the cliff side. He shook the vision of the beast he had seen earlier from his head, blaming it, again, on working too hard.

The Commissar took in his surroundings as he continued to oversee his guardsmen. He was searching for an appropriate ground for their other two tanks. He eyed a rough area covered in what looked to be stinging purplish plant vines. The other two vehicles would fit there, but it would be tight. A brush against his ear, and he informed the other two tanks on their instructions, apologizing for the brambles. He still didn't like that they were all the way up here, and by that measure, partially exposed, especially after his hallucination earlier. There were two more favorable locations they had passed about a kilometer, and a half kilometer back respectively. Both were dryer, more defensible, spacious, and had an ideal cover of brush that was thick enough to conceal them, but not so thick that the cannon of the Basilisk couldn't get to its target. Both places were well suited for "scouting for baddies", as he would sometimes say to himself. Command surely must have studied the coordinates they were given and found this higher mountain glen more suitable, for whatever damn reason. The place they inhabited now was at least pleasant, with trees just beginning to unfurl their new leaves, and a nearby spring offered fresh water. Bird-like feathered reptiles sang their alien songs through the air, and the early midday sunshine illuminated just how far they had climbed. "Must be at least two kilometers, what do you think?" he heard one guardsman ask the Inquisitor as he stretched his legs. The Inquisitor chuckled wryly. Further behind still and en route, Mattieu could hear the Basilisk purr as it climbed up to meet them, its treads grinding slowly forward. It would be here soon, perhaps another minute or two. He liked that sound; it was rather soothing.

The springtime thaw on this planet was rumored to be the most beautiful thing within a parsec, but thus far, Mattieu was not enjoying it. Mud was wet, sticky, and it got everywhere he thought while buffing a scuff off his boots before he finally hopped from his perch on the tank. As he climbed, he snagged his cap on a thorny tree branch. It proceeded to flip over, end on end, and landed top down ahead of where they were. Great. Walking from his transport, he paced to where his cap had been flung, a few paces away. With a heady sigh, he bent his knees to pick it up. Briefly, he heard Ricard laugh something about "Good timing!"

At the very moment he was ducked, a fiery bolt of hot, cyan energy blew past and over the commissar from the direction of the valley. He could hear his men screaming. In slow motion, he saw the eight of them that had disembarked, their eyes wild with surprise as they stood nearby. Everything was so slow. Tal, the driver, sounded like he was screaming, his voice slowly diminishing until a far below thud silenced him.

Mattieu cautiously straightened his legs, no longer terribly concerned about the dirty cap in his hand, and now coat. With wide eyes, he looked to the eight of his squad that had disembarked, who said nothing. Strangely, the inquisitor now wore a smile, likely from the shock of the event. Inquisitors were well acquainted with unusual, near death experiences, and this was probably yet another brush with doom for Ricard. The commissar then cautiously straightened his legs, no longer terribly concerned about his dirty cap, and now, coat. He turned slowly to where their Chimera would be.

There was nothing. It appeared as if a finger of the God Emperor had reached down from the heavens and completely obliterated their Chimera and everything around it. Worse yet, the road itself had also been destroyed, seared utterly away by some unholy might, cutting off any easy exit. There were scorched patches of grass here and there, and some smoldering remains of the tree he got his cap stuck on. Dangerously positioned behind, the Basilisk and the remaining Chimera frantically attempted to reverse in the mud with limited success. According to the shouted commands and screaming in his ear, he learned the rearmost Chimera was somehow having trouble reversing over part of an enormous upended tree root they had somehow managed to miss coming up around the switchback. Below, he saw the leading edge of the ridge seem to buckle. He stared down at them, unblinking and wide-eyed. In his mind, he muttered "come on, come on, come on!" over and over again.

With great force, the rear-most tank burst free from its entanglement, frantically reversing to make way for the Basilisk ahead to retreat with it. Hab block sized chunks of rock and mud now fell from the retreating cliff face. The Basilisk gently rolled backward and downhill, likely utilizing gravity in order to likely avoid upsetting an already precarious perch. As he blankly watched the tanks roll to dubious safety, he began to summon himself back to the present. Mattieu had always considered himself lucky, but not this lucky. With shaking legs, he backed away from the new cliff face, slipping once, and falling in the ruddy, clay heavy mud. He scrambled back to his men, who mostly worse expressions of shock and disbelief. He had always endeavored to to maintain a good sense of morale with his squad by keeping close with them, and as such, this group watched out for their friendly leader. One of the men, a young man of 20 named Fabian, apparently could not suppress a laugh, and choked an audible, nervous giggle. It was infectious to Mattieu, and he began laughing as well. Despite losing Tal, the rest of their number remained untouched. "We're... we're alive!" The Inquisitor laughed softly. Soon, most of the lucky little group was nervously laughing. A crackle in his left ear confirmed the safety of the other two transports. The sergeant in the Basilisk sounded like he needed a change of trousers, but was otherwise alright. Mattieu also began to nervously laugh in relief, giving a smile and a "they're okay, boys!" to his soldiers.

**012.M3**

Zac was laughing too as he saw, deep within his mind's eye, an avalanche of heavy spring snow filled with detritus making its way down from above. He side-eyed a teenage boy in a yellow shirt who had lost to him in a game earlier in the evening. The boy was reading a large book cross-legged on his lap, and shook his head. "No, no," he mouthed. "Not him!"

Zac whispered under his breath, "Yes, him," with a smile, and waited.

**995.M41**

Just then, one of the men, actually the woman named Diana, tilted her head, and with a shriek, desperately tried to get everyone's attention. "Listen, listen! Did you hear that?!" She hiss-yelled to the guardsmen. No one was listening; everyone was laughing, loudly. None of them had time to scream as a sheet of thick snow landed on the squad, crushing every member to death instantly, save Mattieu, who had only been knocked to the ground, a blanket of grey-white over him, his Commissar's cap coated with a few inches of dirty snow.


	3. Fate Steps In

**012.M3**

After the emotional labor of seeing his squad nearly destroyed, Glenn was purchasing a soda to wash down his salt from a vending machine nearby. He seemed to be upset, which was his default, so it wasn't unusual. Glenn was a portly, pallid, sweaty man who often wore jeans and a stained black shirt that didn't quite hide his gut. His unkempt beard often had bits of food nesting in it like eggs, and his crown and glory was the too-small rumpled fedora on his head. He had stopped to talk to one of the few women in the shop as he chose his snacks. Kelly Anderson was a very pretty American girl that had been coming in for some time now, in her early twenties, and with long ironed brown hair. She was, as Glenn called her, "Every gamer's wet dream" since she played Dungeons and Dragons in the back room with another group when 40k tournaments often occurred. Their group was currently on a break, and Zac watched Kelly as she smiled politely at Glenn's turtleface-d attempts at seduction. With a short glance his way, Zac smiled back at her. She was very appealing, and Zac was interested in her zest and liveliness, and had been for a few months now.

And, her name. She had a job opportunity she didn't even know about yet.

Her future was going to be bright with him, he decided, right there and then. Making a short notation in his black book, he winked at Kelly, who softly giggled in response and brushed a hand through her hair playfully. Glenn continued to talk at her about 40k lore she cared nothing for, blissfully unaware of Zac's clandestine flirting. He was always so oblivious.

After his note taking, Zac took this opportunity to remove the wolf figurine from the Commissar's side, and placed it high atop the terrain, above the entirety of the battlefield. He then retrieved a thin sharpie from his front pocket. Quickly, and gently, Zac picked up the little Commissar figurine from under the receipt. "Ugh," he said under his breath, observing the Cheeto-dusted model, "at least wash your hands if you're not going to thin your paints." He uncapped his marker with his teeth, and began marking Glenn's model. "This should help you, little buddy," Zac giggled mischievously. He paused for a split second, calculating a thought, "and so will your new excellent friend, hopefully!"

**995.M41**

Mattieu awoke, his world spinning, both frozen and burning. Stunned and hacking snow from his lungs, his only company now the mist that had billowed down from the mountain slope. He stood up, and vomited into the snow. Gasping, he had both hands on his knees as he looked around the land of white, misty death. He brushed his ear, "Delta team," the Commissar gasped out as loud as he could, "Delta team, report!" silence. "Report!" He roared out, a twinge of desperation in his voice. A scrambled, inarticulate reply from his earpiece, and then an odd sound from above.

The strange gurgling, growling sound the Commissar had heard from the wolf-beast he had hallucinated earlier sounded for a split second from somewhere far above, and then, a rumble. His shouting had apparently loosed a man-sized boulder from on high, sending heavily bounding his way. Time began to slow down once again as Mattieu stared at his rapidly advancing doom. The path of the boulder would strike him. He froze.

**012.M3**

Glenn finally returned from the vending machine and his errant attempts at flirtation, carrying a Pepsi and a fresh bag of nacho cheese Doritos. He kept his mouth open as he breathed. Zac would prefer it if he never breathed. Glenn was a good enough guy to play a game with when no one else was around, but he was clearly a patron of Nurgle, even if he didn't know it yet. Zac still had Glenn's Commissar figurine in hand, and was surveying his little correction from different angles. Glenn was distracted by his large bag of corn snacks, struggling to get a good angle in which to pop open his treat. Zac closed his eyes as he made the final dot. "There," Zac kissed in his best Bob Ross impersonation. At that very moment, the bag of Doritos exploded one third of its contents on the battlefield, felling the great Magnus the Red in a shower of dusty artificial flavoring. "Typical, again," Zac observed.

**995.M41**

The boulder never hit. A mere few meters from crushing him, the rock miraculously split at its midpoint. One of the sides grazed his upper left arm as it descended, spinning him around and striking him off balance to fall to the ground, his head hanging face first over the valley. Mattieu then felt a cold wind at his back as his cap was lifted from him. Out of his periphery, he swore he saw a flash of teeth. In an instant, it was gone, and he saw the two boulder halves fall off the muddy ridge, harmlessly. Stunned, the young Commissar simply laid in the mud for a time, unable to react to his extraordinarily close brush with death. He gazed over into the abyss below him.

He felt the abyss gaze back at him, somehow. Disturbed, something in him bode with great urgency to look upon the valley below. A light misty cloud of strangeness that hurt to look upon veiled his view below. What? Blinking, he cleared his eyes, and saw a debris cloud, likely simply kicked up from the avalanche. Confirming to himself that something strange was afoot now, he made a point to report for a purity exam to make sure none of this oddness was daemonic activity, which worried him now, considering his encounter with the wolf beast earlier. As quickly as the feeling passed over him, it departed. Mattieu choked out more frigid, dirty water.

Aware now that the ridge was unstable, and that he had survival instincts, the Commissar picked himself up quickly, trembling with adrenaline. He stumbled backward in shock, his ears ringing. His earpiece sputtered and died as someone else screamed out the last moments of their lives.

Devastation had torn through the mountain glen. Presently, a thick silence hung with an odd stillness in the air, muffled by mist and misery, but distant indicators of battle could now finally be seen. Ruinous bright flowers of Warp witchcraft bloomed with ghostly beauty through the mist in the sky where the fighting had now actually broken out. With the obfuscation of the valley, the launched artillery of his allies and the sorcery of the enemy resembled silent flying flickering candles, soaring through the air over the vast landscape in all the colors of the rainbow. They were still too far away to help, he sadly calculated. Their climb had been in vain.

Mattieu wretched. He had lost his vehicle, likely his entire assigned squad, and even his cap in the span of a few moments. The Commissar seemed to be injured, as his upper left arm felt hot and strange. With blunted relief, he could distantly hear at least one tank grinding desperately, attempting to navigate the fragile cliff side. He had no way of communicating with them, however, as he could no longer neither see nor hear them on his earpiece. Shouting was no good, as last time had done that, a boulder had nearly killed him. How was he going to break the news to command that his entire squad had been killed by a walk in the woods, and that they seemed to be at least three kilometers away from the actual front? No, they should have never been here in the first place. Why in the warp were they up here anyway? They were indeed toys for the General, he bitterly spat.

**012.M3**

The boy in the yellow shirt who had tried not to be noticed in the shop seemed to be disturbed, Zac noticed. He was seated in a dark corner of the main gaming area. The kid's eyes had begun to water as he clutched the sides of the book. Zac picked up a stray thought rippling through him. _They need help! They need help! I bet that monster is like, right there!_ The boy's thoughts were nearly audible they were so loud.

It was dangerous that he in particular was reading that book. Zac fought the urge to turn around right then and there to rip the tome away from that fucking kid, but that would cause a disruption in his very finely tuned new plans, and likely, draw more attention to himself, among other metaphysical problems. Zac reassured himself that his grandfather was slated to find a way to come back to him soon and likely slap the ever loving shit out of him for being so goddamn stupid. That kid could never keep his grubby paws off of anything, and likely had no idea what kind of danger he was in just by reading that book. It might even be the last mistake he would make. The boy in the yellow shirt caught his eye and looked away. Mortals never learn, Zac huffed. He turned back to his game, and contemplated his next move.

There was indeed help coming, he sensed.

**995.M41**

Mattieu continued to bitterly grit his teeth at his misfortune at being treated like a toy. An unexpected voice near the Commissar, "Greetings, my excellent friend!" A dry, rough chuckle from an unfamiliar voice rang out softly ahead of him.

"Hello?" Mattieu dared to ask. He could see a dark shadow in the cloud of mist and debris as he continued gasping, holding his knees with his hands as he fought disorientation. He struggled to straighten, and reached for his sword. "Identify yourself!" No response. The dark figure was an indistinct shadow, standing upon the sheet of dirty snow where his squad lain likely crushed to death. "Be you friend or foe?" Still no response. "In the name of the Emperor, show yourself!"

The figure began to advance upon him. Mattieu drew his sword, and brandished it threateningly, pointing at the advancing stranger. As the shadow came closer, it began to focus into that of a form of a man in a dark long coat over formal Inquisitor's attire, minus the hat. He was pale, had long, salt and pepper hair that was pulled back, sad blue eyes, and seemed to be in his middle to later years. He stopped a few meters away from Mattieu, and did not seem troubled by the sword pointing at his direction. He wore an impassive expression, hands in the pockets of his long coat.

"You gonna put that away?" He observed the sword in Mattieu's hand in a gravelly voice. The Commissar did not act. The man cleared his throat, "Okay, listen kid, I'm not here to hurt you. What's going on is that you're caught up in a divergent timeline, and I'm here to tell you-" the man looked upward, searching for words for a few moments, nodded, and finished his thought, "-that you're not to fight, and that you're saved in his Hell."

"What?" Mattieu said, his teeth chattering now, and the grip on his sword beginning to sweat. This was clearly an unusual sorcerer, sent to harm him, and likely using mind control to destabilize him. At those thoughts, the man looked at him with what appeared to be pity, and twisted his mouth in an expression of consternation.

The mysterious man shrugged, and removed his hands from his pockets, holding his palms outward in a gesture of conciliation. "Don't ask me, buddy. I don't make the rules here. Think of me as a friend, and hopefully this will be less painful than it needs to be. In the original timeline, I don't even show up this early, I'm a character in the second act. But, I've gotten word that I'm now needed all the way up here. Had to drop off something for a friend here."

"T-timeline?"

"Yes, timeline," the man turned backward to look at the snow behind him. He shrugged, and made an "eh" noise. "They're all dead, sure, yeah, what are you gonna do? But, he'll fix some of that if you play your cards right when you get to Bayside. You're going to need to stop worrying about it and learn to love this timeline, my friend. The shit you went through during the last timeline wasn't pleasant, so I've been called up here special to warn you."

Mattieu dared to lower his sword at the man's impassive expression. Bayside? Who was this sorcerer?

As if knowing his thoughts, the man answered, "They call me Rufus. Or, John Rufus if you want full names and all. I am, or was I suppose, an Inquisitor from the Ordo Malleus the 35th millennium." He seemed momentarily exasperated. "And, I guess I'm doing this now, too. Anyway, I'm here to tell you just not to fight, since, my excellent friend, you are already a part of the Neverending Story, and, subsequently, saved in his Hell." The man appeared genuinely sad, and dropped his eyes, and when Mattieu did not reply, he shrugged. The strange man then turned heel to stride back into the mist that had produced him, his boots crunching the wet snow atop Mattieu's shattered soldiers. "Seriously, just don't fight," he suggested over his shoulder as he walked from view, mist swallowing him back to where he had appeared. The Commissar heard the sound of something metal opening, then closing. A bright electrical flash later, and the shadowy man was gone, leaving Mattieu alone once again, pointing his sword at a phantom of nothing.


	4. Mister Moneybags's New Toy

**012.M3**

Zac was watching Glenn salvage the Doritos that had spilled majestically all over the table. He didn't pick up any chip that had fallen on the floor. That was fine, Zac supposed, since Glenn bending over would give everyone in the shop a view of his own ravine. Glenn munched the chips as he picked them up methodically, his thin goatee orange from the effort. "Don't touch any of my guys, okay?" Glenn huffed, a piece of macerated Dorito launching itself from his maw. It landed somewhere horrifyingly ambiguous on the table.

"'Touch your guys', you kidding? You got orange dust all over my Magnus with your snack-accident. You know what I paid for him, all the conversions I made, all the work I did?" Moving Tizca to the Eye had been a serious pain in the ass. Magnus himself was also a pain in the ass. He was absolutely not a good sport at games, serious or friendly. He had hoped to have a new friend to game with in the Immaterium, as was his grand plan, but alas, Magnus was always so serious, and it was such a damn drag. He was always just crying in his tower, being a gigantic primarch man baby for thousands of years. This needed to stop. Zac had recently purchased some White Wolf inspired World of Darkness bullshit from the bargain bin to hopefully get that spicy tomato into game night (which was really "game forever" with him involved). But as ornery as the primarch was, at least Magnus closes his damn mouth when he devours the flesh of the Materium, unlike Glenn here. Ugh.

Behind him, he heard someone else with a chaos army shaking dice for what sounded like a serious roll. "Come on, 6! Lord Tzeentch I beckon to thee! Change this outcome for the better!"

Zac turned around. The man continued shaking his dice while his opponent told him to "just go already, get on with it!" His opponent was comfortably in the lead, and was fielding a Death Guard army, with two great unclean ones advancing upon the sorcerer, Lord Ahriman.

"ALL SIXES?!" Zac heard as he turned back to his own game, an impish little grin on his face. He loved being him.

Glenn was still picking Doritos off the terrain (and dropping a couple back on the table as he went along) and, as usual, was completely distracted from what was going on right in front of him, "Oh, whatever man. You can afford it. You keep coming here with your Forgeworld stuff all pretty, mister moneybags."

"Mister Moneybags?" Zac blinked, and a slow smile of absolute delight crossed his features, "Hey, I like that one! I've never been called that before!" Zac chirped out happily, smiling so hard that it nearly split his face in two. He took out a small journal and began writing mid-game. Note 25: _visit the Library when home. I shall be called "Mister Moneybags" for a time, I decree_. Zac closed his little book with a snap. Glenn exhaled loudly, nosehairs whistling.

"Well, some of us have bills to pay, you know? I can't go shelling out 900 quid or something to make an army like you."

Poor Glenn was bitter. Good thing he had his new buddy, Mister Moneybags. New names were hard to get these days, with him in particular, and he would find a way to reward him for the "insult."

"Hey Glenn, aren't a few of these fellows still alive?" With Glenn momentarily distracted by Dorito avalanche, a few dice turned on their own. He was motioning to two models, and the Commissar, "I mean, I know that the Chimera ate it, and most of that group, but three of those guys are still alive. The Commissar, the Inquisitor, and this one weird guy you made here with chest mutations."

"She. She's a girl," Glenn licked his lips and beard area like how a dog would lick its jowls. "One of thems' a girl. I bet she's there to take turns," Glenn smiled.

Zac had nothing to say to that, and instead listened to the happy cheering of the table behind him. Ahriman had apparently eliminated both great unclean ones. Good for him. He always just needed to apply himself.

**995.M41**

"Help," a thin, weak voice pleaded near Mattieu, somewhere in the mountain of wet snow. The avalanche appeared to be a lethal one; a heavy, wet slurry blended with rocks and other debris about half again his height that terminated off the cliff side. He whirled around, wiping unconscious tears on his cuff, and subsequently getting orangey mud all over his face. The filth didn't matter so much now; he heard someone cry for help. He raced over to the wall of snow. Mattieu began to frantically dig at the side, looking more like a crazed animal than anything else. Someone in his squad had survived the avalanche!

**012.M3**

"Heeey," Zac interjected, interested in the two beleaguered figurines. "Mind if I check out these three for like, a minute? Promise, my hands are clean," Zac asked, not really caring if he got permission, as he picked up the Commissar once again, the Inquisitor, and the supposed "girl" model (which was really an atrocious kitbash complete with breasts made of green stuff as big as her ridiculous "blonde" hair). Glenn shrugged, apparently forgetting his distaste of anyone touching "his guys."

**995.M41**

The young Commissar dug into the dirty, heavy wet snow until his fingers bled. His elder, more stern colleagues would have simply shrugged, made for that surviving tank, and found more men to replace the ones lost. _This would not do_, he screamed inside._ I must save one!_

Mattieu was now delirious with adrenaline and desperation. He angrily cried as he dug and dug. He had gotten to know each and every soldier with him when they served, choosing to motivate with honor and compassion instead of rigidity and fear. Mattieu had never been required to execute a soldier for cowardice in the five years he had been serving, which was nearly unheard of. It had worked brilliantly, and it was well talked about in his battalion that he had an incredible survival rate. He had always believed in the words of the God Emperor, interpreting his teachings to mean that mankind should love one another, and that the God Emperor would reward them such. Digging himself bloody after losing all his battle brothers (he felt guilty for even thinking it) didn't seem a reward. It seemed unfair.

The Commissar heard whimpering ahead. He hoped with all his being, his very soul, that one of his men should still live by the time he got to them. At that desperate thought, a shadow passed over Mattieu's heart. Stars appeared at the edges of his vision as he blacked out.

**012.M3**

_Oh you poor things_, Zac thought, as he held the three models in his hands. He traced the contours of the commissar figurine with his fingers, considering outcomes. He glanced up, and saw Glenn breathing at him. Glenn was dense, but marking his units as he stared at him would be obvious, even to him. Well, Glenn had called him "Mister Moneybags."

Zac turned the models over in his hands, studying them, "The Commissar model is an older, 3rd edition Imperial Guard model. Both the Inquisitor and the-," he cleared his throat, "...girl Inquisitorial acolyte model are heavily painted. Hmm. All three models have some conversion on them, some of which is made up of pewter. Heavy pewter, an amalgam of numerous metals, one of which is carcinogenic to humans, hmm," he mused aloud. Glenn looked like he was going to snap angrily at him, but as always, Zac was too quick, "How about I buy these two off you, buddy?" That last word was tough to get out, even for him. Damn, he hated Nurgle.

"Why do you want those? I like my models. Imperial Guard for life, man!" Zac pulled his lower lip over his upper teeth, and his upper lip into a toothless, anger/cringe expression. If he had another mouth or two, they would also be wearing the expression. With yet another expenditure of effort, he conjured another few slips of paper.

Zac reached into his back pocket again. "How about if I just give this to you? You'll be able to buy all the "fancy Forgeworld" stuff you want. You did call me "Mister Moneybags", anyway." Zac held up a fan of brand new £50 notes as casually as he held up the receipt. "Voila!" He let the money drift down for dramatic effect on the remaining 1846 points still on the table. "All yours killer. As a man of God, I do indeed enjoy charity. Oh, and if you feel like giving away your soul, you can do that too, since this is a lot of money and all," he suggested coyly.

Glenn gave Zac a sour look, and then began to methodically retrieve each bit of paper that was now nearly covering the gaming table. Zac heard someone behind him react to his rain shower of money with an "oh look, there!" Glenn continued to be sour as his orange fingers dirtied each crisp new note. Zac flinched as Glenn unfortunately began talking again, "Um, I'm sorry, but how gullible do you have to be to believe in souls and stuff? And gods? No offense."

Zac burst out laughing, as if Glenn had told the funniest joke ever. The table behind him had heard Glenn over a lull in the busy tournament, and also began laughing. "Man," the lucky player who had been losing against his Death Guard opponent roared out happily, "you can't tell me that Tez-eentch doesn't exist. Bro heard me from across time!" Even his opponent was laughing, and shaking his head.

"You're gonna be sorry when he grabs your arse when you die, whatever deal you made..." he trailed off, still shaking his head. The surrounding tables were also laughing by now.

Zac just laughed along with the shop, and jovially corrected the other player, "Aacchtttuuuuaalllyyyy, it's pronounced 'Zeentch," he rasped in his best parody of the local trilby crowned planetoid of an Ultramarine player. The tables around them roared with laughter, laughter Zac had found he enjoyed eliciting.

The boy reading the book even began to laugh nervously, pausing his reading to chuckle.


	5. Welcome to Bayside

**.∞.**

When Mattieu opened his eyes, he found himself in strange surroundings. He was sitting at a metal and composite desk in what appeared to be a classroom of sorts. Bright pastel colors assaulted his ears. It almost sounded like someone was trying to tune a vox to make music. Out of his periphery, he swore he saw a strange pair of what looked like goggles, and a white, high laced shoe dip in and out of his field of vision, along with a plethora of colored, angled shapes and animated swirls. None of this made sense. His head began to ache as he beheld visions untold and blasphemous by ordinary men of his time.

With terror, he realized that this must be the Warp, and that he was somehow within it. A voice was talking to him. Where was the Emperor? Emperor, help me, I am in Hell! He closed his eyes and reached for his pistol, which he discovered had vanished along with his sword. He was unarmed and naked in the Warp! He prayed and prayed that this was simply a nightmare, that all of this was a nightmare, and that he would wake up in camp.

What had he done to deserve this terrible horror? Did the sorcerer Rufus bewitch him?

"Hey dweeb, listen up," a young male voice said, though through everywhere at once. "Hell-ooo, Terra to Mattieu?" A blond youth on the right side of his teenage years clad in bright colors and light bluish trousers materialized before him. He snapped his fingers in Mattieu's face, confusing him further. Mattieu could only tremble in response. The young man shrugged, and then slid over a desk near him, and in a fluid movement, landed in his seat. He smiled broadly. "Now I know you're confused, and if I were you, I would be too, but I'm not you, so I'm not," he smiled at his own wit. From somewhere, he heard laughter, but saw no one. This terrified Mattieu. He had never seen anything like this classroom or its laughter in his studies. "Nope, you haven't, but I like to change it up a lot, if you follow my wake," he said, as if knowing his thoughts. The blond youth nodded his tousled head, folded his arms over his chest, and drummed his fingers on either upper arm. "See, I kinda know you're in a little trouble here, buddy, and luckily I'm sort of trouble that needs you!" he winked as he pointed two index fingers at him as if they were pistols. The strange youth suddenly became offended that Mattieu had not reacted. "Oh, come on, and that didn't even get you? Alright, how about the seventy thousand kilos of snowmelt on your head? That'll get you!" The strange invisible laughter returned. None of this was funny. "And you're right! This isn't funny. They're just here for flavor, for now," he made a dismissive gesture at no direction in particular. He then bent his left arm at the elbow upwards in front of himself, and straightened his left hand. His right arm came down, and he made a sort of 'T' gesture. 'T?' Mattieu thought with great alarm.

"It means "timeout", dumbass," he said. "But, I guess it could mean that too. Hmm. Pretty clever! I know I always pick right, remind me to reward you later!" Apparently suddenly annoyed again, he rolled his eyes and looked at him pointedly. "-but where were we? We were getting to the part where you ask me for help."

**012.M3**

"Help?" Aaron whispered under his breath, digging deeply for some spare coins for the soda machine in his jacket pockets. Zac walked up and pressed the number for a can of Coke. Handing Aaron the free can, Zac smoothly got one of his own by pressing the button again, no money required. Aaron stopped fishing for coins as he now happily held his prize. Aaron Cassidy was an interesting, if awkward man of about 40 who, as the shop's owner had once said, was so into metal that he got lead poisoning. Dressed in his "uniform" of black overdyed jeans and a spiky patched leather jacket, he was a familiar character around the shop. Tall, thin, broad shouldered, pale-skinned and crowned with shaggy dyed black hair, he usually stood out in a crowd. His height combined with his uniform had given him the nickname of Corvus Corax, which had pissed him off to no end, given that he was a Chaos player. Zac decided then that he liked this odd fellow, and gave him a slight "cheers" motion with his can of cola.

"Thanks man, I owe you one!" Aaron happily beamed, removing one of his earbuds, revealing the tinny melody of "Sympathy for the Devil" broadcasting feebly as he popped open his gifted soda. It sat between two spikes on the front of his jacket as they spoke. "How did you know what I was going to get? That's some psychic shit, mate!" He motioned for Zac to join him at a small card table nearby with two folding chairs.

_Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste..._

Smiling at the overheard lyrics, and in good spirits, Zac hunched his shoulders and waved his fingers dramatically over Aaron's cola. "Ooooo, I used magic, oooooo!" He had actually used magic. They both sat down at the table. Aaron politely laughed.

"So Aaron, I saw that win! Pretty lucky if you ask me!" Zac cheerfully inquired, taking small sips from his beverage.

"Well, nothing to it mate. I just had to pray to Tzeentch and it worked!" Aaron nodded, a toothy grin on his face.

_...Pleased to meet you! Hope you guess my name!_

Zac sat gaping for a moment, and then began to chuckle knowingly, "Yeah well, you know how it works in the grim darkness of the far future! I bet the dude himself is totally watching you for daemonhood right now. I mean, you have how many victories in tournaments here?"

"12," someone nearby randomly answered.

_But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game..._

Aaron smiled modestly, and almost seemed to puff up with hopeful pride. "I'm happy, but this is a Rogue Trader event. I've never really gotten far at all in those events," he even blushed a little. How adorable! And he was a Chaos player, as well! Zac felt the joy and longing that little children feel when they see their favorite new toy in the shop window. He simply had to have that soul.

Zac began, "I know you probably want to get to 13 crusades before stopping or doing something else, you know, Chaos and all." Zac knew someone else who was approaching 13 crusades without much to show for it. "I bet, if he was real, that if you offered your soul up to him, that he'd allow you to win with ease," Zac said, nodding. Aaron just looked dubiously into his beverage. Zac was quick to add, "-and elevate you to daemonhood."

Aaron's eyes grew large as Zac felt an unusually strong psychic breeze of unlikely hope and fantasy radiate from him. Unconsciously, Zac found that he had flared his nostrils. Yes, he could tell this man would enjoy being his. "You know, this is weird, but sometimes I wish I could be in the 40k universe as like, a daemon. They get to have fun! I know if I were a daemon prince I'd rock out so hard," the metal in the man rushed to the fore as he made a gesture resembling horns raising his index and little finger. He then rocked exceedingly hard to an exceedingly rocking memory. Oh, Aaron.

Hardly a Doomrider, Zac considered wanly, but he'd do. With a nod, he gave a little skip to Aaron's current song.

_...you meet me_

_Have some courtesy_

_Have some sympathy, and some taste_

_Use all your well-earned politesse_

_Or I'll lay your soul to waste..._

Zac mouthed the last line with a smile as Aaron studied his phone accusingly, likely unsure as to why his music skipped. This was all so incredibly fun! "So, it's a deal then? Your soul goes to Tzeentch, you're elevated to daemonhood at your death, and you win this tournament?" Zac clarified softly. Aaron was getting too much out of this deal, but Zac knew he could just go back on his terms. It gave him no shame to admit that he was never a paragon of honesty, especially when it came to the various short-lived, but very entertaining, cattle species of mortals that existed as a one stop shop for fun and food for him and his kin.

"Yeah sure, whatever," Aaron laughed, sealing his fate for eternity. Zac reached out to shake his hand. Aaron obliged, still in his own little world and rocking out. He shook Zac's hand and his face somehow became paler as he abruptly halted his reverie. Aaron pulled his hand away, blinking with disorientation. Zac stood up and began to stride back to one of his many games, a victorious smile on his face.


	6. Mattieu's Deal

**.∞.**

Far from their material world, brave Commissar Mattieu Keres clung desperately to his desk and sanity as a powerful daemonic entity dressed in the skin of a blond youth continued to confuse and frighten him in a strange facsimile of a classroom.

"Huh," Mattieu rasped, gripping the sides of his desk with whitening knuckles. Whoever, or whatever this was could both read his mind and his needs, as it had known he was in desperate need of aid. He even saw his daemonic black eyes narrowing in amusement as he thought that. Those orbs were like pits to the abyss; he knew that the youth-thing could read into his very soul with those eyes.

The creature did not impressed and made a pouting expression. He elucidated with a vain sigh, "Yes, yes, I can do that. I can do a lot of things. In fact, I can bring you and that other lady girl you've had your eye on back to life!"

"I'm dead?!" Mattieu yelped in the small classroom, and he could see animate shadows had begun advancing on the room from the corners, pushing the half-there white shoe away.

"Haven't rolled the credits yet, but yeah, you both are, and will probably die over and over again in reruns," that terrible bright smile, "and you know what? That's a shame, because you're an interesting character. A Commissar with a heart, and a brave slayer of souls, both at the same time! Bless!" He made a little heart shape with his hands, and reached into a trouser pocket for a bright red fruit. He bit into it, crunching away.

"W-who? Who are you? Why am I-"

He swallowed, "Here? Well, that's an easy question to answer! You're interesting, and I like interesting people! See, I'm making a sort of pet project in my realm, a totally awesome school with like, totally the best people and hopefully, the best drama!" It rubbed its hands together in anticipation, almost looking like it was salivating at the prospect of this mad "school." His terrible, terrible dead-eyed smile. "So, you get to be enrolled in it! I like to help people out. And since you went to one of the coolest schools in the galaxy for your Commissar stuff, make an educated guess on that other question."

Mattieu knew of two entities-

"One entity. They changed it," another munch from his fruit. He lounged back and put a white shoe on the seat of the chair in front of him.

Mattieu knew of one entity that was powerful enough to create this pastel hellscape simply for entertainment. That pulls on the strings of fate for the pathological enjoyment of-

He saw the youth-thing smile; he even let out a wicked little giggle.

With desperation, he willed himself to fixate on the contours of his hand, an exercise taught to him by another student when a compromising situation with an intruding witch reading his thoughts.

"And I taught him how to do that too, dude," he rolled his eyes again. "Listen, we in? Anyway, Matt, can I call you Matt? You will wear my mark and your lady love will be alive for you again. Free tip, she had a crush on the driver, and he didn't have a nice trip so you won't see him next fall, so get her when she's vulnerable, man," laughter from all around and nowhere at the same time, including from the thing sitting next to him.

"I... I wear your mark?" Mattieu asked in horror as the lights began to diminish around further in the classroom. He was being intimidated, and he knew it, "but, but they'll all see see! They do exams! I'd be found out!" Laughter again. Horrible daemonic laughter.

"Listen buddy, I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm the only shot you got now." He smiled at the advancing darkness, and seemed to fix his attention to an area of empty space ahead of him, somewhere in the classroom. "Your name will be right... here," he said, pointing at something he could not quite see in the air.

"I thought you said you could save me, not shoot me!" The young man-thing facepalmed, his fingers gripping into his touseled blond hair. He shook his head with a smile. Mattieu could see he was finding this terrifying situation hilarious.

"Right, the 40k thing. I get it, yeah, that stuffs for total nerds here though. Which I'm not, of course," he motioned to the dimming classroom. "But from when you and I come from," he made a suggestive click of his tongue like they were in on a private joke. "So, yeah, wear my mark, man. Come on. I save you and your girlfriend Diane or whatever. Get another line of work or something since I've been trying to come up with super rad fully invisible marks for aeons and if I can't do it, well, it can't be done."

"What-what happens to me," Mattieu gulped, "After."

"After? What, after I give you your life, your waifu, and that Inquisitor guy back?"

"You know what I mean," This sentence was the single bravest thing he had ever said, he considered. He was communicating with this eldricht power from beyond, this monster, this-

"I feel your definition of monster is rather skewed, dude." The darkness was nearly upon them now, but it only seemed to bother Mattieu. The entity tossed another red fruit in the air, making a game out of catching it in one hand. It seemed very similar to the very one he had been eating, but restored. "Buuut, to answer your question, I elevate you to daemonhood and you enroll here in the school."

Mattieu felt a creeping coldness where the darkness touched him at his toes. He would be a daemon prince, that's not so bad, right? Right? His damnation was worth saving Diana! Before him, at his feet, Mattieu beheld a vision of her beautiful platinum hair, dark with blood and adorned with a crown made up of her own broken skull. Tears and panic roiled in him like hot promethium. Resigned, the young Commissar stood from his seat to do the thing that came next. He was hyperventilating, so his next reluctant words came out haltingly.

The blond youth danced to his feet, and for a moment, the two different beings regarded one another, the malevolent youth-thing from beyond Hell just continued smiling. Willing every fiber of his form here to obey him, he forced himself to one knee, his eyes now overflowing with desperate tears, "I-I accept the t-terms a-and p-pledge-" the darkness had stopped advancing on him. Mattieu, rule-abiding, kind, caring, brave, and loyal Mattieu was in the process of damning himself and was disgusted with his own words. But none of this would have ever happened if his command hadn't sent them to their deaths with a half-hearted "Emperor be with you!" Even Diana, who had killed a malwoc by being devoured by it and cutting her way out not six months ago. She did not deserve this ignoble death! The entity motioned to keep going with a wave of his boyish hand, "I-I pledge my soul to you, my Lord."

The blond youth thing simply said "Nice!" with a smile and ruffled the Commissar's hair with humiliating paternal affection. At that, all the lights were up again and the terrible jeering laughter had resumed. Mattieu remained kneeling, staring at the floor in humiliation. The thing knelt down with him to look him in the eye, and slapped him repeatedly on the shoulder in a mockingly reassuring manner. One of the slaps on his upper left arm changed something in him, but he wasn't sure what. "You'll be alright, champ," he handed him the red fruit. "Take a bite, it tastes like being alive," the laughter again. Mattieu could almost see his reflection in the fruit, and considering himself damned by his oath, he took a bite and began to chew joylessly. His current life was now gone. His soul was now gone. But, being a daemon was better than not being alone, he grimly considered.

"I wouldn't count on it!" He heard his new lord laughing in his mind, and with that, the terrible invisible baying laughter of the classroom ringing in his ears as the vision melted away from him.

**995.M41**

"Help!" A voice cried out to Mattieu. He awoke on his belly, burrowed a few cold meters into the snow. A few blinks and he pushed his head up to confirm his surroundings. Materium. Snow. Mud. Air. Water. Blood. "Help!" The voice cried out again, snapping him out of his fugue. He groaned, and turned his head. He was in a small dirty cave of snow, and he was not alone.

To the Commissar's left, somehow unnoticed when he had first dug, was the Inquisitor, Ricard, his overcoat and hat torn from him in shreds in the avalanche, the lower third of him still buried. Miraculously, he also had survived. He was coming to consciousness just as Mattieu laid his eyes on him. He gasped with a great choking wail, and began to cough as the cries for help continued to sound near him. He locked eyes with Mattieu, flinched, and then barked, "Diane! Help her! Now! Don't worry about me!"

The Commissar did not have to be told twice.

Her voice cried out to him, "Help me!" This time, he knew somehow to dig in one direction. Groaning nearby, the Inquisitor began to extricate himself from the ruin. The Commissar dug, and was rewarded as the cries grew louder. His right hand punched through the frigid, densely packed slush. An air pocket! He pushed through, sliding in on a nearly lightless ground covered in fresh blood and slush. Breathing heavily and likely in shock in a little dome of air, Diana lay in a massive pool of blood. Mattieu pulled himself over to her, and he desperately embraced her in a panicked hug. She hugged him back, equally traumatized. Tears dampened his eyes, and his normally coiffed appearance was disheveled with filth, and his hair was crusted in drying (now orange from mixing with Diana's blood) mud and silt. He had given everything to save her, not caring if her affections had been pointed to another. It was all worth it, Mattieu considered in Diana's embrace; he had always been too lucky for his own good anyway, and the roads to Hell were always paved with good intentions. His future seemed grim, and dark.


	7. Just Don't Fight

**012.M3**

"But it was his fault! He started it!" Glenn pleaded to a nearby judge, pointing angrily at Zac, who had begun to put his models away in a large black case. Zac wasn't bothered about it, and was singing a little tune to pass the time as he carefully placed each model in his case. Magnus was absolutely covered in cheese dust, and would need a bath later.

"When you wake up without mourning

Don't you think of being boring

And don't you think you'll ever make it out alive..."

The judge was a stern, Iron Warrior of a nerd who was as unyielding as his iron. Zac picked up a stray thought from Aaron nearby that he considered this judge to have Rogal Dorn's "mighty mustache", and snorted.

The judge stood nearby, cross. "I'm sorry, but our decision is final. We've gotten multiple complaints about the conduct at this table. You've been warned about food on the table, Glenn. And uh, blond guy, no buying and selling. That's a shop rule."

"K," Zac said, nonplussed.

Zac had already bought all that he needed here this evening, anyway. Everything else was just gravy. He smiled, and ignored Glenn's pleading. He wanted to check out that remaining final table anyway.

Once his army was safely packed away, Zac wandered over to the last table, which was Aaron's Chaos army vs some random dude's Imperial Guard. He already knew the outcome of from the deal he made earlier, but it was always super fun to watch events play out, and this event would decide a few things yet to come. If all went well in a few years here, Materium time, the timeline had the potential to advance beyond M41, and these events would come to pass.

Through their cheers, Zac analyzed the situation. Although Imperial victory seemed all but assured here, with 500 points separating the Imperial Guard guy and Aaron, he knew differently. With boisterous interest, he placed himself in the crowd at the table where Planetkiller wold be above if this was a game in macrovision. Conveniently, it was also where Kelly was standing. With a shy grin, she touched his arm with a soft "hey," and smiled at him, pretending to be interested in the game in front of her. And that was fine. Even if she wasn't interested in 40k yet, 40k was interested in her, and it was so. He playfully willed a shiver down her spine and was rewarded when she said, "Oh wow, it feels like someone walked over my grave!" she touched his arm again. What fools these mortals be, he considered as she nudged closer to him, her arm against his.

Three down, three to go, he chuckled to himself. It wasn't even the end of the seventh chapter yet.

Zac observed the final table. He was well acquainted with calculating outcomes, so this one was a "piece of cake", as some of the locals would say. He squinted as he studied, unexpectedly catching Aaron's gaze as he contemplated the armies laid out in miniature before him. Aaron looked away, and shuddered. "What, do I have a Dorito in my hair or something?" Zac chirped across the crowded table. A few people laughed, but Aaron did not. That was just as well, Zac thought, as Aaron wasn't stupid; he must know by now that chance was bending to his will too readily. He made eye contact with him again, and, pulling the meager whispers of power and hope from the excited humans around him, Zac whispered telepathically in a backhanded way of reassuring the man whose soul he now owned, "_It's all right, cause you're saved in my Hell."_

Aaron nearly threw the dice he had been shaking across the table, likely startled by Zac's sudden telepathy. He made immediate eye contact with Zac, and promptly dropped it to mirthlessly mutter out the victorious results for himself, and for the rest of the shop. "5, 6, 6, 6, 6, 5, 6..." he trailed off, his previously desperately wished for victory seemed unimportant to him now. Cheers from his side of the table decorated him like his many tattoos, but Aaron seemed to draw no comfort from this particular "lucky" roll of the dice. If anything, to most outside observers, he seemed to be playing reluctantly now. Kelly actually made a joke that she had heard Aaron had sold his soul to a chaos god to win this tournament, which netted her the surprised (and the latter case, greatly amused) gazes of both Aaron and Zac.

Someone was prodding Zac in the ribs as he watched the inevitable Chaos victory begin to consume the board. He had expected to see the local chubby otaku girl prodding him, but it was the unassuming boy of about 14 wearing a bright yellow shirt that had been reading in the corner. Oh. He was annoyed by his interruption. Zac's eyes fixed on the large dark book he held. Yeah, his grandfather couldn't get here fast enough. Seeing that kid with that book was dangerous and unsettling in this new divergant timeline. Once again, he reassured himself that his pawn would be coming through to remove the dangerous artifact from the kid's hands once both of their jobs were done.

"H-hey, um, jeez this is weird," the boy began, his fingers nervously digging into the cover of the book, "but um, do I know you from somewhere? I mean, I think my grandpa was supposed to be here but you look really familiar so, um. Yeah?" Zac turned to the boy, and cocked his head at him, irritated, considering the outcomes of his existence on every timeline. Turns evil 91% of the time, yeah. "I'm um, sorry? But I think I'm supposed to meet him here and you look familiar and it is just bothering me I guess," he looked awkward and afraid as Zac pointed his gaze down on the boy, who looked away, grasping at the back of his neck.

Nearby laughter interrupted Zac's intimidation of the youth, who had begun to tremble. "Hey, that guy looks like Zack Morris from Saved by the Bell!" some random guy said. A few people murmured in agreement as Zac kept his attention fixed on the boy. In his pocket, he grasped at the Inquisitor figurine, scraping some of the paint off with a nail in irritation.

"You giving Screech a hard time at Bayside tomorrow?" Someone else laughed. Zac turned his terrifying gaze away from the terrified boy back to the table, his fingernails still scrabbling at the Inquisitor figurine. The boy in the yellow shirt simply watched the scene, his eyes strange and faraway.

Aaron caught Zac's eye again as the Imperial player took a few models off the table. He found his mood improved as he smiled and nodded at the accusation, and let him wonder. _He's already had a hard time_, he thought knowingly.

The game progressed as it was planned as was concluded thusly so.

Marginal, somewhat of a stalemate victory for Chaos, but still a victory. Just as well. Someone joked that Cadia had fallen when the gaming table mysteriously broke after the victory. All a part of the plan.

He took out his little black book, and made another notation as the cheers for Aaron began to subside. He paused, and his eyes searched for the boy in the yellow shirt again, who was nervously watching nearby him while sipping a cola. Zac sighed and made another notation. People began to get ready to go home, or pay the local watering hole a visit. Books, cases, miniatures, and in one case, destinies, were bundled up and taken outside as the shop finally closed near midnight.

Zac sat upon a wooden bench near the front of the shop as the last of the gamers departed for homes and/or pubs. Someone invited Zac along for a pint, but he declined in favor of interacting with a few individuals he had his eyes on.

The boy walked outside, clutching at his shoulders, and appearing deeply disturbed. As he passed Zac, he turned around to address him again. He was obviously very nervous. "I-I'm not supposed to be here, am I?" he asked cryptically, a fearful squeak in his voice.

Zac grinned, this time answering his inquiry with a flash of teeth. He removed the Inquisitor figurine from his pocket, and with a flick of his wrist, easily threw it a full five meters straight up into the night sky, catching it with the other hand, and then placing it inside the other pocket. The boy looked on in horror.

"Nope, not yet, but soon. And you should probably leave. Rick will be by this dimension later to collect you. Or, if you fuck up with that book, maybe MI6, so you better play your cards right. Later, fucker!"

"Wha-?" The boy gulped, and went "Oh, jeez!" He scurried away into the night, muttering to himself, clutching the book to his chest firmly.

Zac settled himself again on the bench. That kid still had no idea what was up with the artifact he carried, and just how terrifically perilous it was. It really was too bad he couldn't just take it away from him, but with what he was and what that book was, his eyes on the pages of that artifact could likely cause some kind of crazy paradox, and the last thing this timeline needed was more problems. By its design, It could only really be interacted with in "safely" by those of mortal persuasion, as that is what it fed on. That was too bad, but perhaps he could make his own book like that one one day, he thought. A bright idea in his head, Zac made another note in his little black book. After he was finished writing, he noticed in his periphery that Aaron was nervously glancing his way. After what appeared to be a short, mental struggle, the metalhead zipped up his jacket in preparation for departure. True to his blood, the man often rode his motorcycle to the shop. Zac often admired his ride, a beautifully restored classic 1975 Harley Davidson.

Aaron pinned a smile to his face as he approached Zac. "Hey man, uh, I wanna thank you for helping me out back there," he said, holding both his hands in his pockets.

Zac smiled poisonously. "Hey, I like to help people out of trouble, and I was the sort of trouble that needed you!" Zac pointed both of his fingers as if they were pistols at him. He struck an exaggerated pose, but it was for naught, as Aaron was not impressed. What was with these people? Somehow, no one had any damn sense of humor, which was why these people would always need him. Perhaps it would be an aspect of himself that would finally gift this society with the skill needed to comprehend more sophisticated humor? He would normally immediately know the answers, but he was far weaker here than later, in both arcane strength and knowledge. Even as it pained him to admit, far weaker than what they normally were, only touch above a normal human's. Fettered to a physical avatar, he was frustratingly limited. He could affect outcomes to a degree, and slight mental feats such as telekinesis and telepathy were currently somewhat within his reach. He could still claim souls, as a weakened aspect of himself existed in the current age of the Materium, and in the Warp, he had always been, so he wasn't terribly troubled.

His side project wasn't going anywhere soon, and once certain events resolved in his favor, he would soon become stronger here in the distant past.

He was about to speak with Aaron until Glenn rolled up to engage the winner of the tournament.

Zac decided to covertly listen in, and inserted earbuds in his ears as he walked back to the bench. He took in the night air with a relish. Although he would both never and always admit this come future years, he did genuinely enjoy aspects of Materium "living" as it were, especially in this kinder, brighter age. He took out his black book and made a notation. Quickly, back into his rear pocket the black book returned. Zac was happy; this had been a good day. Not even Glenn's salt could ruin it.

Zac could easily see Glenn was still upset with him. The neckbeard huffed a moment from the exertion of opening the door a few paces back. Glenn then stole a few accusatory glances at Zac as he sat passively by, curious as to what they would say. Biting the inside of his cheek, Glenn guided Aaron a distance away from Zac, and began speaking to him. This was likely done, Zac considered, for privacy. No problem for him, however. He simply decided to listen to the conversation through Aaron's ears.

"Hey man, congrats!" Glenn began. And then, an awkward pause. Zac absolutely hated awkward pauses, so he directed a tiny push of will into Aaron to force him into conversation. Fucking Glenn.

"Hey, thanks!" Aaron replied as if stung by a bee, "Not much to it!" He left out the part about praying to Tzeentch this time.

Glenn exhaled heavily through his soup catcher goatee. "Uh, so hey," the neckbeard began quietly. This was likely to be interesting. Aaron seemed to agree as he leaned in to listen. "Do you think that there's like, anything wrong with that guy? I probably sound dumb, but..." he trailed off, likely from the anxiety of talking about such a subject.

"But what?" Zac said through Aaron's lips, as the metalhead's mind had briefly lapsed, remembering an incredible party in the 90s mid-conversation. Aaron came back quickly after hearing himself say those words. He turned around. Ten meters away, Zac waved without looking up from his phone, earbuds in. Aaron turned back to Glenn.

"Uhh, well, I dunno. I just feel like there's something up with him. He just showed up at the shop a couple months ago and he's been causing so much drama. I saw him win a game here rolling dice that only rolled sixes. And they were the dice in the box purchased here. I was doing really well in the tournament until he paired with me and then I just started rolling 1s and 2s. It doesn't make sense. I don't know what's up with him, but I don't like it," Glenn finished his tirade angry, a shadow of red wings spread across the parts of his face not concealed by beard. He also glanced hatefully at Zac.

Aaron peeked behind again and saw Zac looking him straight in the eye. "Well, ehh," he began, fear creeping into his words. "He is an American," he offered as an explanation as he fled for his bike. Glenn looked like he would chase after him, but concepts such as "haste" and "chasing" were probably lost to him, along with cleanliness. He took out his phone to attend to something, and Zac discovered he was taking pictures of him. He began to laugh again.

"Oh Glenn. You need a picture of my good side!" He said, turning his thin body from side to side, then pouting his lips for a duckface. Glenn advanced on him, taking pictures all the way. Zac didn't mind. This was a likely, somewhat favorable outcome for him anyway. He did mind when Glenn came within a meter of him. "And you also need personal space training."

"I know you're a cheater. You're up to something, and I'm gonna find out what! I have a big follow base for my gaming channel. They'll know who you are now. A dirty cheater!" He spat/growled at Zac.

"Say it, don't spray it, lardo," Zac waved him off, using the technique of simply walking away from Glenn to super effectiveness. A few steps later and he had escaped Glenn, who had not followed him. The nearly empty car lot revealed Aaron finishing packing his army in the saddlebags of his motorcycle. There was another man lounging on another motorcycle at the other side of the lot, deep in shadow and nearly invisible to the light. Only the glow of his cigarette made his silent presence known. Zac inclined his head at him in greeting, and saw the figure with the cigarette nod back at him. Turning his attention back to Aaron, he advanced. Zac walked to him, hands in his pockets, one holding the little Commissar figurine in his palm. As he passed under a streetlight, the only one currently illuminating the lot, it blew out with a crack. Aaron jumped as he finished securing another strap. He looked up and saw Zac walking to him. He felt the man's confused fear well up as he was seen.

"You okay?" Zac asked Aaron, feigning sympathy to buy back just a little more trustworthiness. It was all a part of his ever-large, ever-entertaining game, anyway. He tilted his head and saw that the metalhead was shivering, "'saw you get ambushed by the great unclean on back there. I played against him earlier today, and he got cheese dust all over some of my models. Dropped an entire bag of Doritos onto the playing field and got us disqualified," Zac was actually studying his bike, its make, its mechanics, its strong and weak points as he spoke to Aaron, hiding where his eyes now moved in the now dark car lot.

The metalhead kept his eyes on Zac, nodding just a little as he finished speaking. It looked as if he wanted to say or ask something important, but fear was clouding his mind. Still, Zac hated awkward pauses; with another push of effort-

Aaron seemed to snap out of something, sigh, and begin to laugh. He shook his head. "Man, I'm sorry mate. I have had one crazy day," He said, snapping his gloves on and keying in his motorcycle, which purred to life. Zac quickly gesticulated that he had something to say to Aaron before he departed over the roar of the engine. The metalhead was reaching for his helmet. With a smile that just couldn't be helped, Zac leaned in, and said, "Tell Matt-tee-yew that I will be with you both shortly, as I have a greater game to attend to here, still," He closed his eyes as he said that, ensuring that his words would be carried.

Fear began to worm desperately into the metalhead's heart, which Zac felt clouding with reason, and then, confusion. Good. He knew he had picked well. He liked talking to him, and he needed to get him out of that stupid game shop.

Aaron revved his motorcycle, and obviously not understanding the message, shouted, "Have a good night, Zac! Nice talking to you!" He shouted with forced happiness as he roared out of the car lot. Zac waved him off with a smile as he sped away, bike accelerating quickly down the road with a bawdy scream.

"1...2...3..." Zac dropped his hand, listening to the metalhead blaze through quiet, nearly empty streets; he began slowly counting as he began to walk to his flat. He took one last amused glance at the abandoned helmet Aaron had left on the pavement, and briskly continued on his way. He saw the second darkened motorcycle slowly advance onto the street, and pass him silently. It's occupant flicked a lit cigarette toward Zac, who caught it with his right forefinger and thumb. Taking a drag, he continued, "4...5...6..." he paused to kick a stone in the street, which ricocheted off a parked car, which struck a small brown bat out of the sky. With easy grace, he caught the beleaguered creature as it fell with a squeal in his other hand. "7...8..." he approached the next streetlight at the crossroad, which had a substantial electrical transformer perched upon it. With morbid joy, Zac threw the little dying beast at the electrical transformer, and stepped back. "9!" He laughed.

Many things happened at the precise moment Zac said "9". The clock in the center of town began to chime gently for midnight before an explosive electrical surge caused by the crippled transformer silenced it. Zac listened for the acute noise of a speeding motorcycle T-boning itself against a compact car at an intersection, and was not disappointed. Zac continued walking home, the sounds of chaos all around him, briefly making him homesick. He decided to begin singing the theme from his favorite television show. He, with some advisement from another aspect of himself, had taken the liberty of altering the existing lyrics for his future usage. As the sirens keened out their distress at the chaos of both a major power outage, and a lethal vehicular accident, Zac couldn't help but smile, and began to softly sing, a wicked little spring in his step:

_When you wake up in great mourning_

_Don't you think of being boring_

_And don't you think you'll ever make it out alive_

_By the time you grab my books_

_And I give your soul a look_

_I'm at the corner just in time to see your fate fly by_

_Just don't fight, cause you're saved in my Hell_

**_.∞._**

Aaron Cassidy woke up. His eyes felt like the eggs in the frying pan from those old "This is your brain on drugs" anti-drug commercials. Ugh. Not again, he thought, malaise pinching his pale features. He had apparently fallen asleep in his computer chair again, feeling himself slumped over a desk. With a few bleary blinks, he pulled himself up, expecting to see the ordinary mess of his computer room around him. What he saw both stunned and amused him. He was in an old, 90's styled high school. It was dim, the lighting similar to darkened stage lighting. He was alone, save for a guy in full Commissar getup, minus the hat, who was resting his head on his desk two rows over, head turned away from him. Commissar from 40k, not Commissar from history. Whatever. _Well_, Aaron thought, _this sure is a fucked up dream_, as he pinched himself, attempting to wake.

The Commissar woke with a start. Aaron felt the flesh he was currently pinching fall. The man turned his downcast, brilliantly blue eyes on his, and surprised to see him there, reached for where a pistol would be on his uniform. Finding nothing, he seemed to stop and relax, slumping his shoulders. The man looked to be as confused as Aaron was.

"What?" they both said in unison as they looked upon the other. The Commissar guy still looked upset.

Aaron, still believing himself to be asleep, took a dive into his lucid dreaming fantasies. "H-hey, hey!" Aaron said, standing up with nervous excitement, not really expecting nor believing an Imperial Commissar from 40k would understand him, but there was no harm in trying. Dreams were weird as Hell anyway. "Can I try on your coat? And where's your hat? You're going to get blammed, mate," Aaron realized there was a problem with his question, but he had become distracted by the growing foreboding darkening in his mind. He had a terrible feeling that something had gone disastrously wrong, and was sputtering. He also felt something odd growing within him. A pull. A need. He was supposed to Do Something here. He felt like his whole body screamed with it.

In the tepid darkness, the Commissar continued to look at him with pained eyes while gripping his desk. Much to his surprise, the guy let a long breath go, and started slowly taking off his awesome coat as he stood from his desk. Still, the Need in him broiled and screamed.

Aaron needed to say The Message.

He walked closer to the man, his steps not quite his anymore. It felt as if he was being pushed by a strong, yet deftly manipulated force of wind at his very being.

A split second before The Message left his throat, he came to sudden, terrible, full awareness. With immortal terror in his eyes, Aaron felt as if someone was forcing the words out of his very essence via strangulation. "Our... lord... shall be with... us both sh-shortly for he hassss-"

At this, Aaron felt himself dissolve, glitch, and reform. The Commissar wheeled back in horror of him, toppling the desk and chair he had been resting upon.

"Has...a g-greater game...to attend to... in M3... still," Aaron completed his delivery clutching at his pale face in a failed attempt to stop himself from speaking.


	8. The Three Who Remain

**999.M41**

Mattieu felt Diana's frightened heartbeat in their darkened little chapel of snow, holding her closely. He was shaking, traumatized from his foul vision, and the dramatic left turn his life had taken. Diana was still alive, however. Sweet, precious Diana. Nothing should ever come to harm such a noble and brilliant soul such as her, and even though Mattieu was now damned, he still considered the price worth it, for her star to shine onward here. She and her bravery had always been the secret hope that made him want to be a better man. She always saw the best in people, soldiers or not, and while it often made her blind to personal troubles, it made her the most brilliant soul he had ever seen.

Behind him, he heard Inquisitor Ricard grumble as he pulled himself out of the snow; he scrambled out of their little cave, and began walking around outside, coughing and spitting. Mattieu summoned himself back to the present. "Diana, we have to get out. We're in a spot..."

She gasped a few times, and seized a little in his embrace. Suddenly, she shouted "Get away from me!" in a fit, and began to struggle in the pool of filth. Finding herself again, she breathed heavily, relaxing.

"Commissar Keres? Sir, what happened? I dreamed I died! I dreamed a daemon was holding me!"

The Commissar didn't respond to her concern, blanching a little as he helped her to her knees. The air pocket was only about a meter high, but it was enough for them to move around within. He swore he heard a strange giggle in his mind, and tried to ignore it. Bracing her with his left arm under her shoulder, he lifted her still-trembling form from the pool of blood, and began to aid her in climbing out of their snowy burrow.

The light from the outside world stung the Commissar's eyes as he emerged with Diana. Everything seemed, brighter? Even in his distraught state, he noticed that his perspective had changed. He felt strange and out of sorts. He hauled her up and out of the snow cave, and into the subdued light of the terrible scene. Mattieu reminded himself that she could still be injured. "Hold still, there was an avalanche. I have to see if you're well," he said as he gingerly laid her upon the ground and began to examine her shaking, battered body for any major injury.

The Inquisitor had already extricated himself from his own prison after they had emerged, and was pacing around in the mist nearby, out of sight. There was a pause, and the vaguest sound of a "click" and then a whining electrical sound, like an auspex powering up.

Mattieu had turned his full attention back to Diana. She was a sight, that was for sure. Her grey robes were mostly intact, but half soaked in silty, blood-tinged water. That blood had to have come from somewhere, he thought with a worry, but with the "deal" he had made, he had hoped that whatever had caused her bleeding had been fixed. His new Lord wasn't exactly known for his honesty, according to his studies. Gently, he carefully began to investigate her body for injury with what little medical knowledge he had. As the Commissar touched her limbs, feeling for breaks, he felt a peculiar, sparkling ache on his upper left arm, as if he had a chemical burn. It was vaguely crescent shaped. He knew what that must be, he sighed inwardly. He continued to examine her. "No broken bones, no cuts, nothing. You can really survive anything, huh Diana?" he tried to laugh.

It was then that he looked into her eyes, and saw that they were no longer blue.

"What? What is it?" A pause from her, her eyes searching. She came to a sudden realization, "Did anyone else survive? Where is Ricard? Where is Tal?!" Mattieu couldn't answer and continued to stare, dumb struck at her peculiar new eyes.

"By the Emperor..." Mattieu whispered.

Her eyes were a shining metallic gold. Brilliant, bright, stunning and beautiful against the backdrop of ruddy filth covering her. Mattieu was at a loss for words at her unexpected change in her appearance. Nothing else had changed in her, it appeared, and he hoped that her soul was still intact. What had happened to her?

"Sir?" She asked, and he stood, dumbfounded. A small squeak from one of the pockets her overcoat distracted her. "Oh!"

The Commissar watched as her fair hand found their tiny mascot, Ancient One, also miraculously untouched and unharmed. She removed it from her pocket, and placed the little alien tortoise in her hand over her chest. It squealed, likely cold. Ever kind and caring, she grasped the small creature, warming it with her own body even as she laid on her back on the cold ground. She was as brave as she was gentle, Mattieu thought. "Commissar Keres, what is our status? Where is Inquisitor Ricard? Tal?" she asked, stroking the tortoise's shell.

He heard a dour voice behind him.

"Ricard is right here," he heard footsteps crunching over snow as the Inquisitor began to make his way through the devastated dirty landscape through the pale mist. His outer robes were now stripped from him, destroyed in the avalanche, and he only had his white undercoat to protect him from the chill. He also seemed to be unscathed, if messy. His hat was missing, displaying disheveled pale hair and his blue-ish eyes. Something seemed different about him, but he couldn't be sure. He looked back to Diana's shining golden eyes.

"Books are missing," he announced to them both as he approached, a device resembling an unusual auspex in his right hand, and he whistled. "That's bad news. Real, real bad. Especially that one book. But, I still have some tools to help us out here, so maybe we can figure this shit out." The Commissar continued to stare at her new eyes, transfixed and unable to speak. What had happened to her?

Diana pulled herself to a sitting position, and Mattieu sat next to her. It appeared she was in a fright, and somewhat disoriented. He finally broke eye contact as the Inquisitor approached. She was shivering in her damp robes. The Commissar wanted nothing more than to warm her. Too late, he realized that Ricard would no doubt notice her changed eyes, and perhaps execute her for her sudden new mutation.

Within arm's length of the two, Ricard halted and looked down. He gazed down at Diana, pointedly observing her. _Please don't kill her_, the Commissar pleaded internally_. I damned myself to save her_. _Please don't kill her._ Mattieu saw a brief shudder go through him. The Inquisitor had indeed, no doubt, noticed the change. With a whistle, he then turned to study Mattieu. Witch hunters were adept at rooting out chaotic taint, and Mattieu prayed that his mortal end wouldn't immediately be upon him. Ricard was well acquainted with fighting the daemonic enemies of Mankind, his new Lord included, and may have sensed the dark mark now shadowing his previously shining soul.

The Commissar straightened his back as he sat. Honestly, his damnation was still worth it to save Diana, he thought with defiance.

For a few very tense moments, the Inquisitor stood over the two, glowering. When no accusations of corruption were forthcoming, Mattieu cautiously picked himself up, and Diana followed suit, shaking out her stained, damp robes.

"Men, what is it? What has happened here?" Diana questioned. She placed the tortoise back in her pocket and searched the faces of the two men.

"Chaos, nothing, and an avalanche happened," Ricard observed cryptically, eyeing the Commissar suspiciously again. Something felt different about the Inquisitor. He even felt the skin on his neck prickle with strange energy at that thought. Something else was at work here, but he dared not speak his thoughts. Ricard turned his attention to Diana once again, and with a slight pause, abruptly embraced her. Startled by this unprofessional action, she hugged him awkwardly back, confused. As he continued to hold her, she asked once again, this time with insistence:

"I-Inquisitor? What has happened? Where is Tal? Where is he? Did he survive? We can't be the only survivors!"

Both men were silent. Ricard pulled away, eyes sad and a hand on her shoulder. She shook her head, mouthing "no, no!" Her eyes began to water. Mattieu had never seen her cry before, and it hurt him to witness.

_"Yes, Matt, Rick here is right. Told you so! Didn't have a nice trip and you won't see him next fall!" _Mattieu suddenly heard in his mind as Richard continued to comfort her. He slipped backwards, landing on his rear in the snow in surprise. A voice in his head! It sniggered, its voice keen and cutting. It was terribly familiar. "_Oops, looks like you didn't make that saving throw, falling on your ass like that! Well, anyway, I'd like to make it up to you. Plus, some bullshit happened way back in the past which puts you at a little bit of a disadvantage. Kairos here just won't shut the fuck up about it! We'll show you later."_

_"Actually, you know what? Let me see here. Now, where did I put that..."_

A pause as Mattieu simply watched Diana reluctantly fall back into into Ricard's arms and cry. Strangely, the Inquisitor had also begun weeping, which felt even more out of place. It was very unusual, and he had never seen either of them behave this way. They now both quietly sobbed, and covered in ruddy, bloodstained filth. In his mind, the Commissar heard the clatter of something hard striking a surface, and roll. And then, another clatter. Both objects made noise in his mind before settling into silence. The voice returned. It sounded pleased with itself.

_"Congratulations, Mattieu Keres! You are now a..."_

It paused.

_"You know what? I'll let you find out on your own. Maybe your girlfriend can help you with this?" _The voice abruptly disconnected with a giddy laugh as he witnessed a shower of sparkling light particles launch themselves from the direction of the valley, and shower the three miserable survivors with their brilliance.

Ricard and Diana pulled back from their embrace, startled at the color spray that settled upon them. Mattieu did not move and stared at the ground as he sat, legs bent. He was convinced that he was being transformed into a foul chaos spawn, and accepted his fate grimly. After a few moments of hearing Diana shout prayers to the Emperor, the Commissar noticed that nothing had changed, and that the color spray was simply a multitude of bent, light reflecting aluminum particles, coating his miserable filth with crusty brilliance. Just to be sure, he tested his reflexes using his thumb and fingers, and found that he was actually now more adroit than before. His senses were keener, and looking about, he found that he could also see and hear further. Curious, he began to study the landscape around him. Testing his new perception, he pulled himself cautiously to his feet once again, still covered in metallic dust. The Commissar swept his gaze across the area of snowy devastation, and now found he was remarkably capable of focusing on small pebbles on the ground in great detail. He looked toward the area of the cliff side, studying the area for the signs of sorcery he had seen earlier.

"What is this dust? Oh Emperor!" He distantly heard Diana cry out. "What is this accursed material? It won't come off!"

Mattieu continued to survey the landscape around him in awe as the two Inquisitors speculated with frantic worry on the nature of the metallic dust. Around him, the air also somehow felt unnatural, wrong. Aside from the grim scene before him, there was now no indication of war, and no ruin. The atmosphere hung heavily, cloyingly. There was a general lack of vitality around him, he felt. It felt as if the greyness of his surroundings was not simply due to the frozen death of the disaster, but also life energy itself. In fact, the only things that held much in the way of vibrance were he and his traveling companions. He wondered if this was another consequence of his Lord's influence on his soul. Could he now literally sense life?

"By the Throne..." he breathed, looking at the minuscule detail of his own hand. He could even make out the shapes of the little grains of aluminum dust that had stuck to his skin. Astonishing.

Nearby, as the Commissar watched, Ricard was still attempting (with futility) to brush the sparkling mess off his clothes while Diana took deep breaths to calm herself. As he watched them, Mattieu took notice of something else while observing the deadened surroundings with his keen new senses.

"Wait, everyone. Listen..." he urged, trailing off as he looked in the direction of the cliff side. His two companions looked at him, and Ricard cleared his throat. "Listen. The battle in the valley. What happened to the war that had broken out down there? Our Chimera was hit with a Warp blast, and before I dug Diana from the snow, I saw daemonic artillery overhead. Everything is silent now. Everything feels, well, lifeless, I cannot quantify it. I don't believe it is simply because of the avalanche. There was life everywhere here when we arrived, and now, it feels grey here. What happened? Inquisitor Ricard, what do you think?"

The Commissar omitted the part about seeing the odd sorcerer who had told him to just not fight, and that he was "saved in his Hell." That may have well been a hallucination, along with the daemon hound, but he was not certain. For his survival, and to protect Diana, he concluded in shame that he needed to keep any information that suggested his damnation a terrible secret.

Ricard tapped his jaw with his finger, and began walking toward Mattieu. His expression was cold, his brow furrowed. He appeared suspicious. As he paced, he brushed against the Commissar's left side, and that strange static prickle alighted on his arm and shoulder once again. Ricard stopped, frowned, and went "hmm." He removed a device from his coat to examine it. The Commissar assumed it was a sort of auspex, despite it not appearing typically as such. With a miserable groan, the Inquisitor he placed it back into his coat.

"Inquisitor Ricard? Sir?" Diana questioned, "Do you know what has happened to us? What is this strange dust? What happened to your hair?"

Ricard slouched his shoulders, an expression of defeat on his face as he stared outward in the direction of the cliff. He walked a few paces past Mattieu to the ghostly cliff face, and sat down, his thin legs hanging dangling over the void. For a few moments, no one said anything as they waited for his assessment. He tinkered with his device again. It made an almost depressing sound, and the Inquisitor placed it back in a pocket. He then took out a small flask from within his white coat, and began drinking from it heavily. "Time," he simply said with a belch. "Reality's corrupted, timeline's corrupted."

"Timeline?" Mattieu blanched, remembering again his surreal encounter with the strange man he had seen earlier. A rustle of wind blew up from the valley, giving him a chill. The strange sorcerer (he presumed) who called himself John Rufus mentioned that they should "just not fight, cause we're saved in his Hell." He trembled to think what that meant for them now.

"Timeline, flow of time, circuits of time, reality itself. All that shit's the same. Here," without turning around, he motioned for the two survivors to sit with him on the edge of the silent cliff. He stared over it, seemingly deep in thought. Mattieu walked reluctantly toward him, eyeing the ledge with trepidation. The Inquisitor turned his head and with a dismissive shrug said, "Falling to your death is the least of your worries in this place now. Looks like this place is screwed." Another swig from his flask, and another belch. Mattieu sat down near to him, his legs also dangling over the cliff. He did not like what Ricard implied.

Diana cautiously picked her way over to them. Mattieu could hear her sniffling behind them. This event was the very first time he had seen her cry. She sat down on Ricard's other side, and he offered her the flask, "A toast to our likely annihilation, Diane? Can't say I didn't try. I should really learn to just stop trying. It's like whoever keeps writing about me keeps trying to screw me, past, present, and future. I really did try this time."

She appeared confused, but took the flask anyway. Why was he calling her Diane? She took a drink, winced, and she asked, "How... how long were we out? How long were we trapped?" She clutched at the flask with a pale hand as she then bundled herself in her damp robes beside them, eyes fluttering gold and drying tears. She took another short drink and handed the beverage back to Ricard. Why wasn't the Inquisitor alerting her to her change of appearance?

"How long?" He took the flask from her and took a long gulp, "How long were we trapped? That's not important anymore," he belched again, and rubbed at a bit of drool forming at his lip. "What is important is how long we have left here. But, well, I would estimate we have just a few hours before this stupid planet gets dragged into either the goddamned Warp or deleted from existence. It's in the process of being-" he cleared his throat, "-consumed. This mist? It isn't "mist". It is a form of Nothing. This white stuff you see here? We're at a boundary between realms that are currently dematerializing. There isn't much beyond the boundary. Think of the area beyond the mist like a blank canvas, a machine without a spirit. It is now getting a new program, and we get to be overwritten. More like wiped, actually."

"The Warp!? You don't mean- wait, you said _the Nothing_?! Like in the other tome?! But that's... that's not real, that's only a story! A parable! Right?" she vociferated. Diana seemed more disturbed at the concept of this "Nothing" than the Warp, strangely. He had never heard of any such Imperial teachings, but Inquisitors were often privy to special knowledge so that they could be better equipped against the enemies of Man. The fact that it seemed to greatly upset both Ricard and Diana was disconcerting, to say the least. He continued to listen.

Something whispered under the Inquisitor's breath, barely heard, but caught by Mattieu's new incredible hearing: "...wasn't safe to read here either..."

Ricard began audibly again with a groan, "Anyway, yeah, I most certainly _do _mean the Nothing. And that book isn't just a story, and trying to explain that would take more time than exists here. And, on top of all that, it seems we've all been affected by our little avalanche adventure," He gave Mattieu a suspicious glance and swallowed. For the first time, he noticed that the Inquisitor's normally dirty blonde hair was now a blue white, and standing on end on his head. It had been wet when he first emerged from the snow, but was now strangely perfectly dry, and even clean of any scintillating dust. He continued glancing at Mattieu, and took yet another drink from his flask. He had not offered any to the Commissar. Ricard squinted at him again, this time his expression turning into a scowl. "Now, it's my turn to ask questions. Maybe I can solve this mystery? Were any of you visited by an eldricht power from beyond while knocked out?" He sneered knowingly at Matteu, "Anyone make any "deals" with anyone? Hmm?"

He saw Diana shake her head, concerned. Mattieu said nothing, as he was never a very good liar.

He felt something nudge at him inside. He needed to speak.

Somehow, he found himself easily lying now. "Well, no, I most certainly have not! I've pledged my life to the service of the Emperor and-"

"Sure, sure. Okay," Ricard answered, unconvinced. "Anyway we're all currently fucked and we're all stuck here. Don't expect Imperial Commissar glitterface over there to save you, Diane. And I'm sure one of my relatives fucked this up too somehow. My family is worthless. Lousy p-pieces of shit. Let this be a lesson for you both. Never rely on anyone," he exhaled harshly. Diana appeared embarrassed at the Inquisitor's confusion, and the fact that he was calling her by an incorrect name. Was Ricard drunk already? He took out his auspex device once again, and tooled with it with a small instrument he had produced in his hand. None of what the Inquisitor said made much sense, and he prayed that it was simply him recounting his Imperial teachings, and not drunken (or perhaps, Chaos induced) madness. It was irregular enough that had the Commissar been in a normal situation, he would have even considered reporting Ricard to his superiors for the nigh-heretical things he had witnessed concerning him, but now felt himself hypocritical for doing so, considering his own damnation. He kept silent. In turn, Ricard also did not voice any suspicion that he may have had concerning Mattieu's own corruption. Were both men damned?

The three sat in an ethereal fugue, gazing over the blank cliff at hearing Ricard's words. Mattieu began to clutch at the ground under him, feeling the gravel, and the slowly melting snow numbing his fingers. He saw the bits of aluminum glitter sparkle on him, their light pale in the subdued cloud grey-white of the mountain sky.

Ricard's auspex made three unusual chimes, and began to glow green. He sighed in vague relief.

"Okay everyone," Richard began again, adjusting a dial on his device. "I think I have a plan for us. I am a genius, after all. Looks like my ex-girlfriend might be vacationing somewhere nearby, so if we can get to her before this place gets eaten, we may be in luck."


	9. Into the Unknown

**999.M41**

The three survivors had picked themselves up off the cliff side, and followed Ricard through the sprawling avalanche field. Diana held her arm out to steady the Inquisitor, as he would not accept Mattieu's help. They trod on the uneven ground away from the cliff, and into the area where the forest had been. Blood had begun to bloom pink patches in a few places in the snow, illustrating the gruesome scene of the squad that lay crushed below. The Commissar tried not to look, stepping around the blood-stained markers, and followed the two close behind. Despite the loss of his soul, he said a small silent prayer for those guardsmen who had died today. Mattieu thought once again on his recent infernal pact; he was worried about being scrutinized more thoroughly by Ricard, and his damnation exposed. He still did not know why the Inquisitor was behaving so unprofessionally, and trembled to think that perhaps indeed he had also been damned. Or, perhaps he was just drunk? Not much of this made sense, but at least he currently wasn't in the Warp.

Once again, the Commissar kept silent as they walked, thinking and worrying heavily.

"Where are we going?" Diana asked, clutching at Ricard's arm ahead. She still did not know about her changed eyes. The acolyte's metal-dusted Inquisitor's coat gave her an unreal, almost angelic appearance. It was a kiss of hope in the land of despair. Mattieu remained quiet, deep in guilt concerning his damnation. Curiously, Ricard still had not mention her changed eyes and was still calling her "Diane". In an almost comical interlude, the small tortoise in Diana's pocket peeped out a protest as she tried to smooth her dirty, rumpled robes with her other arm.

"A place where I think we might have a chance to survive. I can tell my, um, ex-girlfriend is nearby, either on this plane or a close neighbor. She's probably doing some dimensional jumping to impress some other hivemind. I really don't know anymore," Ricard said, and further adjusted his tool. "I know you're all too stupid to understand, but this plane has some weak areas now because it is degrading. A major form of quantum tunneling is pushing through, possibly causing a bridge out of here. And I miiight-" he wheezed, stepping over a fallen tree branch and onto some bare ground. "I might be able to talk her into letting us use whatever transdimensional backdoor she has, or I can cause a further bruise in this plane of existence so we can get through to a non-fucked reality. Right now, where we are is fucked." Rick then snickered, "Heh, I could never get that backdoor anyway."

Hivemind? Dimension jumping? Ricard was once again not making much sense, and while Mattieu had been conditioned to never question Inquisitors in their understanding of the nature of the Warp, he was now growing impatient with his unusual, nigh-heretical demeanor. Something new inside of him seemed to rebel. An electric sensation alighted like a shock on his left arm once again. He found himself asking a question, speeding his pace as he hastened to walk adjacent to the Inquisitor. Selfless devotion and discipline had reigned in his soul previously, but now, strong curiosity flavored with a desire to "change things" powered his reactions. He tried not to think about it, and continued onward.

"A bruise? Forgive me Inquisitor, but you aren't suggesting we go into the Warp directly, are you?" The Commissar asked, walking quickly ahead to catch up to Ricard.

"No, what do you think I am, stupid?" Ricard gave him a nasty look as the three continued walking ahead. He made a comtemplative sound and turned his attention forward. He laughed bitterly, "Well, to be fair, we might end up in the Warp trying to get to her. Or a blend of Warp and Materium. Or Nothing. It's a cosmic gamble. We're going to die with a 17 times out of 20 probability with my plan, but we will die with a 30 out of 20 certainty if we stay here. And again not even death. An unexistence, a stasis, a falsehood of existence..." Ricard began to fiddle with the auspex device in his hands as they walked further into the mist, Mattieu once again falling back behind the two, heavy with anxiety. The forest had thinned out to be replaced by a flat, landscape dotted with twisted, desperate trees that seemed to claw at the sky. Only the same heavy white mist remained as a constant.

"You see, kids, like I said before, reality itself here is damaged. Something is causing this place to become nothing, and the gravitational well of this metaphysical "Nothing" is so deep that it is now drawing other planes of existence along with it like a crazy apocalyptic vortex. It's causing thinness between the realms as they collide, and subsequent weak points where easier travel can be facilitated. By my calculations, it is so dangerous that even the fucking Warp isn't safe from its clutches."

In an effort to distract himself from his looming fate, the Commissar began to angrily attempt to shake off the metallic dust on his longcoat, only to see it stuck firmly. He never liked being dirty, but now, for some reason, the sparkling mess was upsetting him on top of his ridiculous circumstances. He heard keen laughter in his head again, causing a mild ache at his temple. His new Lord had clearly thought his life was a hilarious prank, and Mattieu growled internally. Is this was psykers felt all the time? Was it always going to be like this now?

The Commissar felt anger, anguish, and frustration race through him, causing his heart to palpitate. His skin alighted with goosebumps. His soul was gone, and now he was likely meeting his end on this planet.

He considered his life again. This didn't seem fair. His life was a toy, first to the General, and now to the Lord of Change. Lost in melancholia, Mattieu marched silently behind the Inquisitor and his acolyte, kicking small stones as he went along in irritation. There was nothing he could do now, he sighed with angry resignation. He needed to worry now about Diana, to keep her safe somehow, not about things he could not change. She needed to not die! Why had the Lord of Change even made this deal with him to keep her alive if he would just kill her here? She needed to be the hope they all needed! He needed to keep hope that things could change, at least for her. He should be worried more about the... changed landscape?

The lay of the land had shifted.

Mattieu noticed with a turn that there seemed to be no trace of the mountain cliff side from where the snow had fallen from above. The trio had now easily wandered 100 meters away from the avalanche into the area of the alpine forest they had parked in earlier, and by this point, they should have reached the steep slope of the mountain. Instead, the landscape was as flat as a plate, and the wet ground had become dry and grassy as they trudged onward. The white mist remained heavily around them, a soup of misery.

Mattieu dared a question as he followed the two, his teeth chattering slightly in concealed fear. "What? What happened to the mountain? The-the springtime forest, It was right here! There was no scrubland here when we charted the area! This was all mountain!"

"Right, and there was glitter on us too. Corruption, timeline, reality is fucked," Ricard remarked nonchalantly without turning around, holding the device in his hands ahead of him as they walked further. It was emitting a lurid green glow, causing the misty landscape ahead to fluoresce in its light.

"Beg your pardon, Inquisitor?"

"I shouldn't have to spell it out, fuck's sake," Ricard barked as he placed his device into his white longcoat. "Keres, look at yourself."

The Inquisitor stopped, and turned on heel to look the Commissar in the eye again, crossing his arms in front of him. "Go on now, look."

Halting, Mattieu blinked with bewilderment, and looked down to his coat.

The metallic dust had cleaned itself from him. It had been all but impossible to dislodge before, and it now appeared as if it had never even existed. Aside from the ruddy dirt on his feet and lower legs, he was dry and cleaned.

"H-how-?"

Ricard sighed. "I keep telling you, and damn, you are slow. You make any "deals?" I had expectations that people in the grim darkness of the future would at least be smarter than this, but hey, guess I can't win, huh?" He seemed to ignore the implication that he had accused Mattieu of making a deal with a Chaos power, and turned back around. Diana wordlessly stood adjacent to the Inquisitor, blessedly lost in her own thoughts. She didn't seem to notice what Ricard had said, Emperor be praised. "Anyway, listen, not important now anyway. We don't have much time before this planet is consumed. We're probably all fucked as it is anyway. I'm tired of reliving this. I actually don't know why I bother anymore since all this shit keeps happening to me," Ricard wiped a bit of drool off his pale face, and sighed with resignation.

There was a strange chill breeze that hissed through the sparse gnarled trees in the new, dun-colored grassland. It had a vague scent of blood and death to it, as if someone opened a door to a large butcher's freezer right beside him. The air became heavier, and a sense of dread seized his heart with icy fingers.

Mattieu felt himself blanch as his jaw went slack. A wave of despair passed over him. As he stood, watching Ricard shake his head sadly, he felt a wave of nausea grip him.

The Inquisitor slouched his shoulders, and removed his flask from his cloak. He began to drink heavily again. "Nothing ever works out. Nothing matters," he moaned.

Diana stood by, her bright eyes nearly shining. "What will we do? What will become of us?" she asked, quiet desperation swimming in her voice. Together, the Inquisitor and his acolyte both stood on a patch of dead grass, catching their breaths. Two formerly brave and disciplined members of the Imperium's fighting forces had been reduced to exhaustion by under an hour of walking. A palpable anguish seemed to emanate from them, something the Commissar could almost feel now.

A new Hell was visited to the trio. As they stood, there was an echo somewhere unseen; a strange terrible tearing sounded through the trees. The very air became heavier around the three travelers, and it felt as if gravity was increased. The Commissar's ears popped as he registered a pressure change. What on Terra? The wind moved the white mist, turning it into a churning grey maelstrom. The trees began to break and splinter before them. He began to see the shapes of faces, hands, and teeth in the wilderness. His head began to ache. With alarm, Mattieu witnessed the landscape begin to "dissolve" like sand into the viscous mists around them.

The very land they tred upon was rending and shifting right under their feet. The grey light had begun to darken, like an unnatural thunderstorm had been summoned from a nightmare. A wall of roiling granite-colored clouds punctuated with flashes of blue and indigo energy lashed out threateningly.

The Commissar reacted with alarm, and shouted a warning to the Inquisitor. However, Ricard was still halted in front of him, and was frozen in his stride next to Diana. With his keen hearing, Mattieu was now able to make out that Ricard was actually mumbling something under his breath.

"Will a path through. Make it work. You can do this, champ, come on, you can do this. C'mon oh please oh God c'mon. Will a path. There is a path. Just like the Matrix, come on. You can do this. Make it work. Will a path. Bitch went to Fantasia. To Fantasia. Will a path. To _Unity_," he muttered quickly as he stood, his eyes closed as he gripped Diana's shoulder. What was he doing? They were all going to die and Ricard was losing it! He would die here in this disintegrating world! It even felt like hands had reached up to grab at his boots, holding him in place, freezing him to the spot! He thrashed and struggled in panic.

Near his feet, Mattieu felt something touch his boots. Frightened, he was suddenly able to jump straight up. When his boots found purchase again, he was surprised that the ground was now very solid. Where before there was dusty soil, he now felt a hard, smooth surface under his feet as a path had risen up under them.

"Ahaha! Not today, God!" Rick shouted with triumph as he stood on a new meter-wide solid pathway. The landscape had changed entirely into a land of gently churning mists of the color of gunmetal punctuated with indigo, and they were gently illuminated as if through pale moonlight. The path they trod upon now resembled solid black glass. The daemonic-seeming shapes they had seen had been pushed back, blessedly. Mattieu heard Ricard exhale heavily with relief, "Okay everyone, I don't know how long I can keep this up, but we have to find a way out of here very soon. The land we were just walking on just shifted partway into the Formless Wastes, so I guess, welcome to the Formless Wastes in the suburbs of the Warp. Carlos McConnell is now gone. That was a dumb name for a planet anyway, and it didn't have catgirls like the guide said it did."

"We're in the Warp?" Diana marveled, cautiously waving an arm before her. "How are we still alive?"

"Like I keep saying, kids. Reality is fucked. Different planes are now getting smashed together as the Nothing consumes everything. I've managed to make us a little path through Hell here using my genius. I won't be able to hold it up forever, though. But, well, I'm pretty sure I can get us to where I found where my ex is holed up, so just follow me." Without further explanation, he began to walk on the much darker path ahead of him, further into the heavy unknown.

Mattieu had no choice but to follow, his boots making little sound as his heels struck the glassy raised pathway.

The air seemed to grow colder around him. There was an odd heaviness around the Commissar, and he almost felt like something was watching him. His arm began to ache.

**012.M3 **

The youth in the yellow shirt was breathing heavily as he raced through the night of the town of Wildwood to the southeast of London, England. "Oh jeez, oh jeez!" he wailed as he ran as far as he could from the shop into the night. Streetlights illuminated him as he ran and ran, not caring where he would go, only that he was "away" from where he had been. The boy checked over his shoulder to see if the entity had been following him, but there was only terrifying darkness. He began to run faster, wishing he could escape his fate. He couldn't count how many experiences like this that he had had concerning him and his grandfather. That familiar blond guy he had seen at the game shop had a stare that was so cold that it was almost like it could freeze time itself! After being intimidated outside the shop, he had taken off running. The wind whipped through his hair as the clock in the center of town began to strike midnight, and with a loud, explosive bang, ceased. All the streetlights simultaneously went out, and he stumbled. The moment he struck the ground, he heard what sounded like squealing tires and an explosive smash. In terror, he lay on the sidewalk on his belly, his book in his arms and quaking in fear.

He was frightened. He was lost here, displaced yet again by circumstances his grandfather had introduced to him. He had no way out of this strange timeline. This wasn't the first time he had been "lost" through reality. That was not unexpected. Grandpa didn't seem to care much about him during his adventures many times, and this likely wouldn't be the last time he would be left hanging.

Or maybe, it was the last time for him, because he was doomed?

"Fuck you, Grandpa Rick," Morty Smith swore tearfully in the dark.

Pulling himself upright, Morty took stock of the situation he currently found himself in, thoughts racing. This dimension was mostly normal, except that he was suddenly in England instead of America. For what reason, he did not know. Differentiating it from his home dimension, he had seen a few odd (and sometimes scarily coincidental) inconsistencies. That scary guy he had seen at the tournament looked just like Zack Morris from Saved by the Bell, down to the retro blond haircut, and even seemed to have the same casual Californian inflection in his accent, but with an added edge of sardonic amusement. That was unsettling since had begun watching old Saved by the Bell clips on the internet when he was sick a few weeks ago, looking for a campy pick me up. When he was feeling better, his grandpa had taken him to the cursed shop, Needful Things, where Morty had clandestinely picked up the mysterious parcel. Fuck, man, maybe this was actually Summer's fault somehow? Stupid female asshole!

Not like it mattered here, since Summer apparently did not exist. Oh jeez.

Despite being warned against taking anything, Morty had felt the strange volume almost "singing" to him, and he had to have it. His sister had a part time job at the shop, and had been bored all afternoon. Summer had caught him putting the book in his backpack, and didn't seem to care. "Fine, go kill yourself for all I care. Oh right, yeah, remove any curse you find on it blah blah blah..." and she just went right back to texting. And now, he was in a dimension where Summer had never even been born with no way to escape.

Directly after the acquisition of the book, he had visited a local game store. Being the clumsy kid he normally was, he accidentally dropped his backpack, spilling his prize on the floor where it had landed opened to the first page. He still remembered the first few words of the entire story: _"This is not for you" _almost mocking him, daring him to read it. Feeling somehow slighted by a book, the boy picked up the story and began to secretly read as Rick busied himself with arguing with one of the Warhammer 40k nerds about how the timeline never advances. He could always get the curse removed later, he rationalized to himself.

Covertly reading over a week, he found the book oddly fascinating. From what he could remember, it was an elaborate story that depicted all sorts of unrelated genres, almost like a grand-unifying theory fanfiction. He could half-recall that there was a chaos entity of a sort screwing around with reality in order to repair a "time fault" somewhere. The giant evil chaos god somehow ended up in Atlantic City, New Jersey, of all places, and then, there was this epic cliffhanger with a cool goth girl doing a sweet motorcycle jump off a pier. It was kind of a wild story; he remembered enjoying it. Lots of time travel, so right up his alley!

And then, before he could finish it, something unexpected. The most he could remember was encountering a blank page that had the words "I see you, and you see me..." and then, there was nothing beyond it, just more blank pages. Morty had thought that story was cheap and stupid for ending like that, and wished greatly that it could continue. Much to his horrified surprise, he then woke up in a bed in a different house in a different country with a different version of his family. Here, he only had his father, his mother was dead and his sister had never existed. His memories of the recent past seemed damaged, as well.

If he needed confirmation that the book was cursed, that was it, but it didn't stop him from reading it again.

In an attempt to make sense of his new reality, and his fuzzy memories, he immediately attempted to consult the book by skipping through for clues that would help him understand where he was and why he was trapped in this strange new world. He had deduced that the book might have had something to do with all this insanity. His revelation in attempting to refresh his memory was a terror. While Morty knew for certain he had read through much of the book in his "old" life, he now couldn't actually remember much of it; any and all attempts to look back on what he had read previously were met with seeing the story advance further. It appeared the book only wanted to progress, and that he could never backtrack. Any memories he managed to recover almost seemed like a sort of deja vu, and it gave him a sinking feeling.

The book came with him. Somehow, he knew it was different than what he had read before. Thus far, he had only read up to the initial adventures of the Commissar, Mattieu Keres, the Inquisitor, Ricard, and his acolyte, Diana. Despite not quite remembering how the story progressed before, events seemed out of place. It was as if the book had somehow "restarted", and was telling the story again, but this time, differently. There were notable changes that he could recall from the shreds of memory he retained from before his arrival here. These changes included the Inquisitor surviving the avalanche (he had died before), and a monster wolf showing up to taunt Mattieu after their tank had unexpectedly busted out (the tank never had a malfunction before falling from the cliff; another difference). One of his favorite characters, John Rufus, the mortal psyker husband of a Lord of Change (who was also coincidentally named "John") appeared prematurely. The character himself even seemed aware that he was too early. He had even said something like "I'm here too early!", which was even crazier.

The only thing Morty could honestly think to do was to go back to the closest analog to a game store he could find (since the story had properly "begun" in a game store), and wait there for Rick to come along. An intuition from deep within him told him that the book was very dangerous, but the temptation to recover his memories of what he read was too much, and he continued to read, engrossed. For a few days now, he would visit to the game shop after school (which was now a place entirely alien to him). There, where he would buy a cheap game, a soda, people watch, and steal furtive short reads of the mysterious book. It also gave him a place to be instead of home with fake dad. Nothing outrageous had happened so far, until tonight's 40k tournament. As he watched the various miniature armies play at both war and strategy, he noticed the guy who was a dead ringer for Zack Morris from Saved by the Bell from some of the later seasons. He was sure of it.

After briefly laughing at the comparison, Morty began to feel as if there was something very wrong with him. When the "Zack" he had seen earlier had looked at him, it seemed that those strangely inhuman black eyes could see right through every part of him. Maybe a shapeshifting alien of some kind? Because of his numerous previous adventures with Rick, he was oddly used to communicating with interdimensional entities at this point, but this one? This one who took the form of a 90's teen icon? This one felt incredibly dangerous. Whatever it was it _absolutely terrified _him.

Even worse, why did he also seem to now be a character in the book he was reading? It almost seemed that he was the very entity that spoke to Mattieu in the Warp. A place called "Bayside" was even referenced by Rufus on the mountain, just like Bayside high in Saved by the Bell! How was that even possible? The book was definitely cursed, he concluded. Yeah. He should have gotten the curse removed before reading it, goddamnit. Maybe the guy who looked like Zack Morris was just a side effect of the reality bending nature of the book? Or, maybe it was simply that he hadn't slept well in a few days. Temporal jet lag, he guessed.

There really was no logical explanation here for all of this other than "weird cursed magic interdimensional portal book" and it hurt his head to think about it. Aw jeez. He _really _should have gotten that curse removed.

Morty sat on the path that lead home, breathing raggedly for a little bit, as he heard sirens wail out near him in response to wherever the chaos had occurred. He straightened up in the thick darkness. He placed the large book next to him on the dark pavement, and grasped his arms around his legs.

"This is just great," Morty said. He had nowhere to go; he had no escape from this new place. He began to hyperventillate. With defeat, he realized that he had to concede with what the entity had told him earlier; and that was to wait for his Rick to come by and collect him. Morty tried to distract himself with memories of Jessica, the most beautiful girl in the world. She was likely now gone too, somewhere far from where he was, never to be reached again. Everything he had was gone.

"Aw jeez, Rick. I r-really should have listened," He said.

Hearing more sirens and now seeing plumes of orange ascend from the direction of the town square over rooftops, he started to weakly laugh. Remove the traumatic experience of getting unexpectedly plucked from his reality and thrown into a different one, and this was pretty wild. Encountering a Zack Morris-shaped entity after being marooned by a cursed magic book in some sort of weird parallel dimension was absurd. Haha, crazy! Maybe Rick and Zack knew each other and this was all one big joke on him? Morty stopped laughing. In the dim orange light of the fiery night sky, he looked at the book again. _Well, I'm stuck here. Maybe a few more pages? I wish I had some light so I could at least see what happened to Mattieu back there. It looks like they had a weird book too, but they lost that one_, he thought, shaking his head.

A streetlight above him gasped painfully to light, the only one on the path to mysteriously light up. The boy gazed suspiciously above, and dismissing it as an electrical glitch, began to read.

"Jeez Mattieu, y-your life is as fucked as mine is, haha. I'm saved in Hell too, it looks like. But you can't let that swamp get to you! Diana needs you!"

He took a breath as he opened the book, and began to read.

Out of range of his vision in the night, a man on a motorcycle watched him silently, checked his watch, and made a notation.


	10. Welcome to Fantasia

**.∞.**

The three travelers continued their mysterious trek upon the shadowy glass path that formed a bridge through the Formless Wastes. The scenery was deceptively plain, but he did admit he didn't really know exactly what to expect. Here, in this area, everything was grey, and the mists would form animate sheets that would lap in their general direction like strange currents in an ocean world. The air smelled of sickly, and as they continued onward, the earthy rotting smell of a marsh would grow stronger. The Commissar found that sounds were muffled here, and that his ears would randomly ring. A few times, he thought he heard someone (or something) calling his name, and with a turn, saw nothing. He tried not to look too hard, lest he surrender his sanity to the creatures that dwelt here. Ahead of him on a meter-wide path which seemed to be carved out of solid obsidian was Ricard as he held Diana's hand, trekking forward with his device held threateningly ahead of him, illuminating the way through the roiling grey. Whatever Ricard was doing seemed to keep the chaos at bay, and he was grateful for his presence.

Often, he repeated to himself that he needed to have hope for Diana, and then, his steps felt just a little bit lighter. He kept hope within himself like a small, bright candle against the chaos of this unholy place. At least it wasn't the madness of the classroom again, he conceded grimly.

They continued to walk in silence, occasional voices calling out to them beyond the path, enticing them to stray.

Behind him, the Commissar suddenly felt a chill wind. He looked behind, and was surprised. On the path, a young woman in a short, blue and gold shirt and skirt was jogging her way toward them. Her hair was bound in a wrapping, and bounced against her head. What was remarkable was that even in this strange desaturated place, she was very colorful, and it almost hurt his eyes to behold her. She was also translucent, almost like she wasn't really there, a ghost running through time. He stopped, and called a warning to his companions ahead.

"Companions? Something comes," he announced, keeping his eyes on the woman. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready. Diana and Ricard stopped, turned, and also took notice. Diana drew her pistol, and waited. Ricard simply took the opportunity to bark a laugh and drink from his flask once again as all three observed the advancing, ghostly woman.

The phantom didn't seem to see them, lost in her run. Mattieu stood aside as she passed him. After she passed Ricard and Diana, her form dissolved into colorful vapor, and became one with the grey mists of the Wastes.

"Was that a daemonette, Inquisitor?" Diana asked, looking at the area where she had dissolved. Seeing the lack of urgency in her companions, she holstered her weapon.

"No more danger than we're already in, Diane. She's an echo from the past, probably a lost soul here. Not sure why she's able to manifest on this path, but looks like she's gone now," there was a concern in Ricard's voice that gave the Commissar pause. Something had troubled him.

"Inquisitor?" Mattieu questioned.

"Let's just continue," Ricard grumbled. "The Warp is nuts. Don't pay too much attention. Plus, we're nearing a crossroads, I think. From there we can take the last exit to the plane of Fantasia. Damn, I really hope that my ex is still there."

Wordlessly, Diana and Mattieu followed, and within a few silent minutes of walking, they encountered a signpost dilleniating two differing paths at an intersection. They stopped. Pointing to his left, in High Gothic, the sign said "To Hell", and to his right, a sign said "To Heaven."

"Okay, geniuses, I'll give you a guess as to which one is the better way to go, although I think both ways suck right now, considering the timeline damage," Ricard said, quaffing yet another drink. He hadn't really stopped drinking since the avalanche.

"I'm supposing the heaven path, but the Warp can be deceiving," Diana answered.

"Correct. One way leads to the deeper parts of the Warp, and maybe a Hellraiser dimension or something, and another into the realm of Fantasia. Normally, Fantasia's pretty sweet, but not anymore, I suspect. Anyway, I calculate the Nothing was first birthed there from the actions of an unknown rogue plane, and it is now gnawing on many realities, Materium, Immaterium, and uncountable planes in between."

"Other planes? All we were taught is that there was Warp and Materium. You never mentioned any of this in our lessons, Inquisitor," Diana asked, observing both paths. The left pathway was very dark, much darker than the shadowed grey of the Wastes around them. The right pathway was made up of misty white clouds that hung in the air silently. The smell of rot was heavy in the air.

Ricard belched, and waved his device near the white path indicated by the "To Heaven" sign. It flashed green. "Well, I had been hoping that this place was safe, and since some of this stuff is super high level intelligence clearance, I didn't feel you were ready. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to matter now. Someone's tampering with reality, and now we all have to pay the price."

Both Mattieu and Diana said nothing, and exchanged confused looks. They dared not question Ricard's strange observations. Mattieu wondered if it was his Lord, hurting reality for his own sadistic enjoyment.

As soon as he had the thought, the keen voice in his head reappeared. _Not me, Matt. I'm trying to fix this. Do you think I would want all matter and energy to halt? That sort of thing would destroy the Immaterium too, you dumbass. Even Nurgle is afraid of that, man. Just don't ask too many questions and follow Rick here._

At hearing the voice in his head, the Commissar began to wretch.

The Inquisitor stood studying the white path for a few moments. He looked like he was deep in thought.

"Okay, listen. We can't leave here without leaving something behind, apparently. There's a Chaos power lurking around here, and it wants a toll," Ricard explained, hands on his hips. Before the two could express terror at this revelation, the Inquisitor turned to Diana.

"Diane, I need something from you."

Diana's eyes went wide with horror.

"Not your soul, sweetheart. Come on. The power here is apparently really pissed off at the Nothing as well since it is also getting hurt by it, and an article of clothing, jewelry, anything like that, would apparently give it a little extra juice to survive. It wants something from the material world for whatever reason."

The unnatural, terrifying wind began to kick up. The scent of smoke and burning spice filled the air. Both the Commissar and the acolyte would not move or speak.

Diana finally spoke up. "To get out of the Warp, soul intact?" She asked.

A pause.

"Yup. Remember what I taught you," Ricard answered, adjusting his device.

Diana removed a ring from her left hand. It was a ring of polished adamantium that gleamed like a star. She held the ring in her hand, and looked at it sadly.

"This was from my grandmother's pilgrimage to Terra. We don't know how old it is. She said I'd have to give it up one day for something important, a price for living. She's with the Emperor now. I didn't think it would be this," she sounded so sad. Surely there was something else she could discard? Something so precious shouldn't simply be discarded in the darkness of the Formless Wastes!

"Good, that should be adequate. Shitty offerings always piss off these entities, so if you had given it a sock or something it would have been super pissed and eaten us or whatever. Now-" Ricard waved her over to stand next to the bright path.

"Place it at the threshold. A way should open into Fantasia, if my calculations are correct."

Diana did as instructed, and knelt down on the glass path, placing the shining ring on the ground with a "tink" sound. Almost immediately, a swirling vortex opened through the undulating mist.

Ricard held his device, pointing it at the "doorway." It glowed green, and made an affirmative sound.

"Alright, follow me, you two," Rick said, holding his device. He began to step outward, onto the white forking path, where he vanished.

"W-what?" Mattieu choked, and before he could object, Diana had grasped his hand, and pulled him into the white.

Brief moments of white blindness assaulted his vision, until the Commissar felt his feet encounter new soft ground. It was heavy, thick, and swampy. The smell of a salt water marsh hung heavily around him. The mist cleared, and then, he was someplace new.

It was a heavy, depressing black swamp dotted with fetid vegetation and pitiful dying black husks of trees. White mist hung with stillness in the air in this place of utter devastation. The mud was black, soft, and felt dangerous. He immediately sunk up to his shins, and felt the swamp water soak uncomfortably into his trousers from a tear in his left boot. This place likely held areas of very dangerous quicksand. An aura of devastation and misery hung around them. It was a place of utter despair, and complete sadness. At least it seemed to be reality, and not the Warp.

"Hmm," Ricard stood ahead, his back turned to him. He was sunk up to his knees. Diana had found a more solid patch nearby, and was only up to her ankles in the mire. "Okay, well, welcome to Fantasia. Onward we go. I think my ex is still here, hanging out in a cheerful place called the Dead Mountains. She still might have a way off this particular dying plane, and into one that maybe isn't Nothing-doomed, and I get to save us all. I hope."

Ricard again led the trio, his hand on Diana's, cursing at the swamp as he would occasionally become stuck. They walked, silently and with fatigue, through the depressing landscape.

After some time, Mattieu realized that he felt strangely exhausted, as if he had been running, despite only marching through the miserable misty black bog. The Commissar stumbled, then barely caught himself as his boot snagged a hidden obstacle in the mire. He steadied himself, watching his despairing companions. Breathing heavily, he stopped, still sunken shin deep. "Look, look," he shook his head wearily, "We need to rest a little. We haven't had any sleep for 24 hours. We need to have hope-hope," He gasped, wobbling slightly. He shifted his weight from side to side, and spat into the mud.

Ricard and Diana halted ahead of him, with Ricard turning to regard him with an expression of both boredom and contempt.

"Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do if I don't have hope, Commissar Keres? Shoot me?" Ricard laughed, and took a swig of his flask. It didn't seem to be emptying, which was strange. The Inquisitor dryly laughed as Diana stood by, her strange new golden eyes wet with new tears. "No seriously, what can you do now? By my calculations, we've entered the fucking Swamp of Sadness via that brief detour through the remains of the Formless Wastes in the Warp, and misery here breathes like the air. I saw a film like this in another reality a long time ago. My grandson cried like a little bitch when Artax the horse drowned!" Another intoxicated laugh.

_Artax? Ricard has a grandson?_ Mattieu wondered as he straightened himself up.

**012.M3 **

"What?" Morty choked, feeling his heart jump in his chest at reading the words on the dim page.

"Oh, oh jeez! Is-is this book actually...?" He looked at the cover of the book in the guttering light above him.

A medallion of two serpents coiled around eachother, one dark, one light, in an eternal knot. How had he missed this adornment?! He remembered that the book had seemed perfectly featureless in the shop when he had taken it. There was still no title on the cover. No dramatic "The Neverending Story" words shined out to him. Some of the scenes that were described did seem familiar, but they weren't the same as the movie. Breathing deeply to calm himself down, he assured himself that this was a different book, and that the book he now held was just some weird ripoff that could read and integrate his thoughts and make a story as part of its power, maybe. He didn't know. This was his grandfather's specialty, not his. Rick would eventually explain it, he was sure. There wasn't a rock biter, or a racing snail, or an Empress needing a new name or anything.

Or a Gmork. Well, he hoped that monster wolf wasn't Gmork. That thing frightened him most of all in the movie. A creature that served the power behind the Nothing would likely be an existential terror from beyond Hell in the 40k universe, far more dangerous than in The Neverending Story. In true grimdark fashion, he imagined it could be an indescribable entity that could even jump between reality and the Warp. Maybe it served the things that wanted to destroy everything, the powers behind the Nothing, like the movie said? He shivered again.

Yeah, he didn't see anything like that in the book. He relaxed. Luckily, in the movie, Gmork was just this poorly animated wolf anyway that never really caught anyone, despite being very scary.

"Holy shit, I really have to get it together," Morty murmured, nearly silently. Rick couldn't get here fast enough. He usually comes back to get him. Usually. He should really be more optimistic, he considered. Maybe his new dad here wasn't so bad? This one seemed to be smarter and had an English accent, so that was pretty interesting.

"Yeah, this is different," he said, observing the massive, hard bound book, tracing his fingers over the medallion on the cover. "It can't be the real one. I just haven't had any sleep in awhile, that's all. I just need to rest. Rick'll come back," The boy comforted himself with those words. He found himself very tired. A good night of sleep would help him. His new family's house was nearby, and he walked heavily in the loud, chaotic darkness of the power outage, trying not to think to hard. Sirens screamed into the night as he walked the short distance to his small, two story row "home." It was an average place of white paint and shuttered windows, in an average neighborhood. There was even an average garden complete with an average decorative wishing well out in front, completing the average amount of crass for a typical English home. Passing by it, he tossed a 1p coin into the still water as he approached the front door.

A dog barked from someone else's garden as he searched for his keys within his trouser pockets.

Before he could unlock the door, his father appeared in the threshold, face painted with great worry. "Morty!" He shouted before embracing him in a thick hug, "You were supposed to be home thirty minutes ago! Have you seen the news? There was a fatal smashup in the centre of town! I was so worried! You get inside here, now!"

Morty stared at his doppelganger father vacantly. This man really wasn't his father. He was pulled inside the modest home.

A strange wind brushed by his shoulders as the door shut behind him.

"I love you, son, but you need to get your head out of the clouds!"

"Yes, dad. I'm sorry dad," he said with defeat as he walked upstairs to his bedroom, clutching the mysterious book at his side. He was tired. He needed to sleep, but first, one more chapter.

A man on a motorcycle continued to write in a little black book after watching the boy take a short walk to a house. He sniffed at the air. He glided his motorcycle to rest below a second story window of a modest home nearby. And he waited.

It was coming.

**.∞.**

Mattieu shook his head again, simply too weary to think. A clinging grey-white mist had come up around them as they had been walking, and it was growing thicker. With its cloying notes of rot, rain, and salt, the air now somehow smelled of hopelessness, if such a thing could have a scent. It made the Commissar ill, and he wretched again, spitting a mouthful of bile onto the ground. Mattieu observed Ricard tinker with his device again as they were stopped. He wondered what it could be, since it didn't seem to be a typical auspex. He also seemed to be having trouble with it, as he could hear muted swearing, and the sound of a high electronic wail correspond to his frustration.

"Looks like the Nothing is still advancing here. It is affecting my calculations," he said angrily. The Inquisitor began to advance cautiously, changing his course slightly as he picked his way through the perilous, sinking ground. Not having many other options, the two followed him once again. The device seemed to glow slightly brighter, bathing them once again in a greenish glow which caused the white mist around them to shine. "Well, anyway, there's a chance we can find an Island of Stability here, I think."

"Island of Stability? Wh-"

"I wouldn't expect you to know, Keres. But, the Island of Stability is a cluster of super heavy elements that exists in some realities that hold remarkably high half lives concerning their massive atomic weight. Normally produced in a high end laboratory in civilized societies, these elements do all sorts of crazy things. Not like you would understand, so I'm not explaining it. Basically, there's a cluster of them here, all crammed together on an island."

"Then what does-"

The Inquisitor interrupted again with a groan as he trudged forward, half stumbling in the mud while holding his device ahead of him, "It means there's a place in this shithole that is now probably a safe place to rest from this soul-eating swamp due to the energy siphon currently pulling on this reality. It still has yet to decay to further instability. We still have awhile to go before the Dead Mountains. We need to rest, otherwise the Swamp eats us, and then we get erased."

Diana had been quiet for most of their lonely trek, but her steps in the mud seemed lighter now, the Commissar noticed. She seemed to not be sinking as much as her compatriots, but she seemed even more exhausted than they. Diana was brave, hopeful, beautiful, and amazing, Mattieu thought dreamily. She was baring this all with almost no complaint, becoming a bright spot of hope for them to cling on to. He watched her trudge, chin up, a few messy steps with a proud smile of admiration on his face. She then called out, "Wait, men, I think I see something!" while pointing at a seemingly arbitrary direction, a few degrees east from where they had been walking. Mattieu could see nothing but white, soupy mist.

Ricard paused, and turned his device to where she pointed. It suddenly glowed brightly, briefly blinding the commissar with a flash. The Inquisitor laughed with relief. "Well, looks like someone at least paid attention in Imperium school. What did I tell you guys? There it is. The Island of Stability!"

At Ricard's words, the mist seemed to part slightly, illuminating a slight mound that rose out of the swamp to offer a bit of mossy, dry land. It didn't seem to be more than a few hundred meters across, but it was something. Mattieu sighed in relief, and the three of them hastened to the little island in the marsh.

**012.M3 **

After saying goodnight to his still-admonishing "father", the youth had changed into his nightclothes and went to bed. He opened the book, and began reading again.

Morty was tired, but feeling strangely energized after reading that they had found a thing called "The Island of Stability" on the way to the "Dead Mountains," which were definitely both not in the movie. The book may be weird, but it didn't seem to be evil. It actually seemed to be completely fascinating to him, as he found he could not put it down, despite whatever curse it had. He saw a lot of himself in Mattieu, the brave Commissar who had gotten screwed over by that jerk of a chaos god. And weirdly enough, he saw a lot of his grandfather in the Inquisitor Ricard, who swore a lot and wouldn't stop drinking. He wondered if a Jessica would appear too with a snort. He had bundled himself under blankets upstairs, staying up to finish one last chapter. Flashlight in hand, he had a little tent of light in which to read his book by. Tomorrow was a just another normal day, so he could just relax and not have to deal with any of this bullshit. After school, he could go to the Starbucks down the street and just relax. He didn't want anything to do with scary entities in a game store. Morty wanted nothing weird like that.

An echo seemed to sing in his mind, then. _Nothing like that... Nothing... Nothing. _And then, he thought he heard a strange, hoarse laughter. Morty yelped into the darkness, spooked. Hearing a creak, he blamed the wind lashing against his shutters, and set about finishing his current chapter. Chaos gods and 40k weren't real, at least here, anyway, he assured himself. It was a good thing he was not in the 40k reality, and that the Warp didn't exist here, and neither did creatures like Gmork or reality-eating cancers like the Nothing.

Into existence, a liquid shadow in the shape of a massive, almost-wolf shape larger than the size of an oxen pulled itself into reality into the youth's bedroom. It was formed from stray shadows cast by the light of the flashlight diffused under the thin blanket the boy hid beneath. Its blasphemous form took up nearly all of the floor space, and its half-man-beast paws clutched the carpet in anticipation. It watched its oblivious subject of interest hidden under his blanket with predatory curiosity, emerald catlike eyes and too many teeth shining palely in the dark. It cocked its head, amused. It licked it's jaws. It eagerly advanced. Soon, this would be over before it even began.

The Manipulators had told it forever and never ago, "whoever has the control has the power," and now, with victory, they would be pleased. And it could finally rest, never to be again. Rewarded with Nothing.

Until it felt something else. Something it needed to destroy more than anything in existence! It's very imperative demanded it!

The man on the motorcycle below watched the window eagerly, and turned his bike around with a black smile. He inclined his head at the window, opened slightly to the night air on the second story of the modest home.

The man on the motorcycle whispered nearly inaudibly into the wind:

_"Chase me through time. To the end of time. To the beginning of time. Come to me, Gmork!" _The man sped away into the night.

Hearing its name addressed, it became infuriated. With an inhuman growl, the beast turned its huge head upward and baring its teeth, it sprung forward in a mighty leap, clearing the boy and bursting through the windows opened to the night air, nearly breaking the hinges with a howl.

"Whoa!" Morty jumped as he heard his bedroom windows burst open with a clatter. "That was spooky!" The youth observed his opened shutters, which creaked eerily in the wind, "Why did they open outward?" he puzzled, and shrugged. "That was weird. Oh well!" He heard a motorcycle speed through the night, and the wind gusted through his bedroom.

He lost his place in the book with annoyance, and considering himself exhausted anyway, rolled over and went to sleep.

**.∞.**

"Alright everyone," Mattieu planted a foot onto the drier ground of the Island. It felt much sturdier than the mud. He offered his hand to Diana, who took it gratefully. Pulling her upward, her momentum placed her in his embrace, and Mattieu flushed with embarrassment before briefly letting her down onto the mossy, dry ground. He heard the tortoise, Ancient One, squeak in her pocket as she settled herself. Ricard was busying himself with investigating the area with his device, which glowed brightly. He remained standing knee deep in the swamp. Ricard's white coat was splattered with muddy filth, giving him the appearance of being doused in black paint nearly up to his chest. He looked from his device to the land both Mattieu and Diana stood upon, and seemed satisfied. "Okay, yeah, this is the place. We're safe here for at least a day, time decay accounted for. We need to rest. If we don't rest, we get exhausted. If we get exhausted in that swamp, we get obliviated, so no choice."

The Commissar and Diana reached for the Inquisitor, but Ricard only took Diana's hand, glaring once again at Mattieu with a scowl. Mattieu knew for certain that Ricard now understood that he had been corrupted by Chaos, but why he wasn't acting on this knowledge puzzled him. There was still something "wrong" with the Inquisitor as well, Mattieu deeply suspected. Ricard had also become instantly clean from the shining metal spray after the avalanche, and his appearance seemed different. He appeared... older now? He kept his suspicious eyes on the Inquisitor as he was pulled up the small slope of the Island from the swamp. He had been a man of about thirty five years. But now, furrowed lines of age had appeared around his mouth and forehead, and he appeared to be about fifty, or perhaps older. His hair had a bluish tinge to it now, and stuck straight up on his head.

Ricard caught Mattieu staring as he was pulled up onto the Island.

Grabbing the Commissar's forearm to brace himself, Ricard hissed, "Take a picture, blue eyes. It lasts longer." The Commissar flinched, and released him as soon as the Inquisitor could steady himself. He was behaving strangely and aggressively. Ricard began to climb the gradual slope of the miserable mound. He passed them both, grumbling under his breath. Diana looked at the Inquisitor with curiosity as he walked upward.

"Forgive me, Commissar Keres, but w-why is he being this way?" She asked Mattieu as she put her fair hand on the Commissar's shoulder. "He's always been-" she yawned. Diana appeared exhausted. She needed rest. "He's always been fair and reasonable. Even though we might be in trouble here I'm sure-" she yawned again. Mattieu took her by the arm and began to lead her up the slope. She continued, "I'm sure he'll find a way out. I'm sure." She looked tired. This had been a terrible endeavor for the three of them. Four if he counted the tortoise she carried.

"I'm sure things will work out," Mattieu lied.

Not having very many options, they followed where Ricard had lead as he hiked further up the Island. A few steps, and he saw her drop her golden gaze to the ground, seemingly lost in thought. The Commissar continued to look at her, observing how exhausted she suddenly seemed to be.

What he wouldn't give to be next to her as her husband in another life that wasn't this one, he caught the thought shamefully in his conscience as he admired her again, admiring her fair features.

That was when he saw it. She appeared younger now. Diana had been in her mid twenties before, but now she appeared no older than eighteen! Her skin was smoother, and her hair, now even paler than before. Her eyes were still patent gold, and against her lightening hair, she seemed to resemble something more akin to a living saint than the soldier he had known before. All she needed were a pair of wings and a halo, and he could easily see her leading armies against the foes of the Emperor. Perhaps this meant that she was now blessed, and that they would be saved!

Diana had caught him staring at her as they walked. "What is it?" She asked, sleepily.

"Well, uh..."

The keening voice returned in his mind.

_Better not say anything about our little chat, Matt. Don't be a nerd about this, okay? Nerds aren't popular in my realm.. And remember, just don't fight, 'cause you're saved in my Hell! _He heard laughter in his mind. He knew who that must be, and a shiver ran over his spine.

"Nothing," the Commissar stammered.


	11. The Island of Stability

**.∞.**

The three weary travelers walked a short distance up the little hill, and finding somewhat of a plateau, stopped. There was something unexpected here. Ricard groaned as they witnessed the white mist part ominously, and they saw the ruin of a few small stone dwellings. They appeared as if coming into phase from nonexistence, an ancient remainder from an unknown city from an unknown time. They were of a dark masonry, covered in old, dead moss, and half tumbled to the whims of forgetfulness. Condensation from the damp air darkened them, and the stones appeared nearly black against the canvas of whites and greys around them. If Mattieu were to place them on a timeline of human development, they would be ancient indeed. The ruins were utterly alien. It was depressing to see more devastation and decay around them.

"Fuck. This shouldn't be here," Ricard said, taking another drink. "Too early. Timeline's fucked. Told you."

"This looks like a real spook city," Diana remarked as she began to curiously approach the toppled stone buildings. She began to focus on a frescoed wall depicting mysterious scenes of long dead people from another time. Just then, a low unnatural howl of wind moaned through the misty dead place. "What was that?" she asked, her hand going to her pistol.

Below the Island of Stability and within the Swamp of Sadness, a creature of darkness stalked.

He was starved. He had hunted for so long. His mission was almost complete. He knew that his victory was near as he circled the mossy Island of Stability. He was weak, and while he could travel the Swamp and other corrupted areas here, he could not sustain his paradoxical form on the Island, which reeked of hope and dreams; the very land was an anathema to it. The werewolf lashed his tongue across his jaws. There were ways around this limitation, however, and soon, he would be rewarded with rest. He would be rewarded with Nothing, and the favor of the masters he served. All his quarry had to do was to look at his portrait on the wall, and the unstable, mutable nature of this Nothing-tainted realm would allow him a bridge onto the Island. With renewed fervor, he raced continuously across the perimeter of where his quarry lay. His hunt had lasted uncountable millennia, many versions of himself tirelessly hunting; time was utterly imperceptible to him and what he was. This was the last remaining version of himself to exist after he had been shattered so long ago while on another plane. He was the last and greatest piece, and he had persisted until the end of time, hunting the warriors of hope that would attempt to stop the Nothing.

All it had ever known was the hunt, and how delicious it would be to taste dreams and hope on his red teeth before snuffing existence out of this universe once and for all. He was an agent of lies across time, across realms. And every dream consumed by his fangs became an echo of power of where his masters existed. They would reward him, yes. With Nothing. Finally.

The beast of annihilation laughed. He continued to merrily circle, his ghostly tracks silent and unseen through the mist below.

A long, low howl sounded from the swamp below the Island, and quickly, Ricard whipped his head to Diana as she began to cautiously examine one of the dilapidated murals on a wall with her pistol drawn. His eyes were wide with fright.

She had approached an ancient fresco that depicted a scene of a great, black wolf with green eyes. Mattieu felt like something was watching him, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"For fuck's sake! _Don't look at any of that!_" Ricard yelled suddenly at the top of his lungs, "Avert your fucking eyes, both of you! Get away from those ruins! Danger, danger! Get the fuck away! Vade retro, motherfuckers!"

Mattieu and Diana instantly reacted, hearing the frantic desperation in the Inquisitor's voice. Diana quickly rushed away from the ancient settlement as fast as she could manage into the fog, boots ripping at the damp soil. Prayers to the Emperor rang in the air in her voice as he heard her ready her firearm. The Commissar retreated as well, backing away from the ruined settlement as he drew his own bolt pistol from his coat while averting his eyes from the ruins themselves. He held his breath as he awaited an attack from a possible daemon or other threat. In his instinctive combat response, he lost sight of Diana. Gulping, he continued backing away from the cursed place, pistol cocked. _Oh no. Where was she? Is she alright?_ he feared, glancing nervously about.

Tense moments passed, and the Commissar felt his own heartbeat beating in disguised panic. He held his breath, clutching his pistol, waiting for an infernal entity to emerge.

Ricard's voice called through the white mist, "Okay, figured it out. Don't look at the frescoes or you'll summon things. They're one way gates to bad places. Stay away from that place to make sure."

In the distance, the distinctive green of Ricard's auspex. Well, he hoped it was his, and not a daemon impersonating him or-

Mattieu abruptly sat down in the dirt, his knees weakened and his heart palpitating. He was rattled, and shaking. He was upset at his own cowardly reaction. What horrors will continuously befall him in this Hell? Would they ever escape this place? How could he protect Diana from the unrelenting darkness when he had easily lost her in the mist? Emperor damn it all! He pushed a hand through his messy hair, nervously. He stopped. "I am still a Commissar of the Imperium of Man", Mattieu reminded himself, and he would not have himself panicked like an Eldar child! Steeling himself, he took a few breaths, and willed this misery to stop in him. As he let his breath go, he felt suddenly energized. The Commissar almost swore he saw the landscape turn a shade of blue around him for a split second. Refreshed, he took a few breaths. A mournful howling sound echoed around him, perhaps from the wind moaning through the dilapidated walls of the ancient buildings of Spook City (which he now considered was quite aptly named by Diana). He felt a hand clap his left shoulder. Expecting Diana or Ricard, he turned around.

Instead, he saw the unsettling form of the entity he had seen in his vision in the Warp when he had lost his soul.

It was his Lord; the god was again wearing the flesh of the blond young man. He was brightly clothed and glaringly out of place here.

At that thought, his Lord winked, smiled, and vanished.

He heard the terrible dancing voice in his mind again. _Spook City? Yeah, I like that name too! I'll make a note of it to put in my book for later. Anyway, there's a fucking thing tracking you. Just keep listening to that dude Rick. And Rufus too. It'll be awhile before you see him again, but he knows what he's talking about. And you guys better take a rest so your exhaustion doesn't exacerbate any more Nothing before you get to where you're going. Time is still stalling out and I had to break myself up in a bunch of shards since the other gods were being dumb, as usual... I'm trying to fix it but Nurgle is being a shithead! But I'm me, so I'm brilliant, so you don't have anything to worry about. Oh, and Aaron's going to come through in a bit. I need you to meet him. Your area is stabilized for awhile, but Rick is right. Get your ass to those Dead Mountains and when you're there, say hi to Jess for me! She's in, say, a "sticky situation!"_

_Arin? Jess?_ Mattieu thought. Perhaps more survivors? Or, perhaps simply something to confuse and frighten him by. His Lord seemed to enjoy toying with him, he observed to himself.

_Well, you are pretty easy to confuse, Matt! But, you are fun, and I like that!_

Mattieu wretched off to the side again as he heard that daemonic laughter again in his head. He remained sitting on the ground, about twenty paces away from the mysterious dwellings of Spook City.

He sat there for some time, thinking nothing and everything all at once.

The Commissar jumped as he heard Diana's sweet voice over his right shoulder. "Are you alright?" she asked. She placed her hand on him in comfort. She had found him before Ricard.

"No," he honestly replied with a breath. "This is not how I imagined my life in service to the Emperor." He shook his head, and looked at her beautiful, angelic eyes once again, and felt renewed. "But, I do know that His Grace lives on in the beauty of some, even in this horrible place," he said with a weary smile on his face.

As he looked behind, and over her shoulder, he could see Ricard approaching, arms crossed and expression angry. He shook his head. The Inquisitor had heard what Mattieu had said. There was a heavy pause as he stopped near them. He cleared his throat to get their attention. The Commissar half expected the Inquisitor to out him as an agent of chaos right then and there, but once again, that did not happen. Mattieu was feeling confirmation again that the Inquisitor had also made "a deal." He could now strangely sense a now familiar energy rippling off of him. Internally bracing himself, Mattieu decided that if the Inquisitor were to out him, that he would also alert Diana to the corruption that seemed to be warping at the soul of Ricard. Something must have happened to Ricard, considering his change in demeanor, age, and general appearance.

"We done playing space romance opera here, you two?" He grumbled. Diana appeared confused, and Ricard sighed, "Come on, lets make camp."

A short while later, the trio had made a miserable camp with foraged bits of long dead tree branches to make an equally depressing campfire, and dug shallow indents in the ground for sleeping away the chill of the strange air. They slung their coats over their fronts in weak attempts to shake off the preternatural chill. Thankfully, Ricard had a small stash of rations, and, combined with the water of a nearby spring and some iodine for purification, they were at least fed for the night. No one said anything as they ate their dried protein bars around the little fire, which had to be rekindled repeatedly. The aura of this strange place seemed to pull all the life energy out of the air. The Inquisitor seemed to get even more weary, and even older before Mattieu's eyes even as they ate. And most disturbingly to him, Diana seemed to be getting younger still. As they ate in depressed silence, Mattieu looked to their shallow shelters in the dirt. They resembled graves. Aside from her strangely reversing age (she now only seemed to be fifteen or so, only a girl, and oblivious to her affliction; both Ricard and Mattieu had not told her about her changed appearance) Diana seemed to be getting weaker and weaker as time wore on, but she did not complain. Brave Diana, hopeful Diana, Mattieu thought with exhaustion as he watched her try to feed and warm the little tortoise she carried near the fire. To busy herself, she even made Ancient One a little nest of moss next to her space. Ever caring, even to the small creatures, the Commissar thought sadly.

And now, they were all likely doomed here. His fantasy would remain a fantasy, and their lives would be lost in the sands of eternity, never to be remembered.

After finishing a shared cup of fetid water, Mattieu felt exhaustion begin to fall upon him as well. He looked at his little "grave" he had dug with the brave sword that he had used to command his (now deceased) soldiers into battle uncountable times. He looked back at Diana and Ricard. Ricard was staring into the fire, fixed and unreadable. Diana's eyes struggled to stay open as she huddled nearby, halfway between the fire and her little dug resting place, her arms wrapped around her legs and her head down. The Commissar walked over to her, and placed his hand on her shoulder in comfort. She felt warm and kind, like a dream he had once had, but was now forever lost. Her golden eyes opened.

"Y-you..." She said, sleepily. "I'm sick. I need to rest. I am tired. I'm very sick. I need a new name," she said, half asleep and apparently half delirious with exhaustion.

Mattieu smiled, and stroked her now white hair as she started to drift away, heavy with sleep. She was everything he had ever wished for, and now, a golden eyed commander of wishes to him, he considered. That could even be her title now, at least in his dreams, if not reality. The golden eyed commander of wishes to his heart, eternally. She began to pitch forward in her exhaustion, losing consciousness. The Commissar reached behind her, hooking his arms behind her shoulders, and lifted her now lighter form. So deep was her sudden slumber that she did not wake at this. Diana was too light. She felt as if she was a young teenage girl now, he felt with a shudder. This was a terrible, mysterious place, and he hoped that wherever Ricard was leading them, it was the correct way out, and that the toll on their bodies wouldn't be so difficult once back in the Materium, if they got out at all.

He carried her to her grave, and laid her to sleep, draping her Inquisitor's coat over her. Ancient One peeped beside her, snuggled in a bed of moss.

Mattieu then found himself very tired, and with a yawn, stumbled to his own little trench, and nearly immediately passed out.

Ricard, nearby, dryly observed this. He sighed, and drank from his flask. "I am always damned, aren't I? Free will is an illusion for me, isn't it, God?" He spat into the fire. "I'm sure this will be entertaining to some sadistic little pricks somewhere, seeing as I'm now a part of the Neverending fucking Story. Someone out there is fucking reading this and laughing at this going "ohh, classic Rick haha"." He laughed, shaking his head. His laughter then transitioned into hacking coughs which then became gasping, wracking sobs. With a sniff, he drank as much as he could from his flask and continued to cry miserable tears over his arm. As he wept, the drops of his fallen tears fell heavily upon the earth, and where they landed, they produced tiny golem creature things, who also began to wail with him. "Huh, well look at that," he slurred. The nature of himself, the blessings he carried, and the land that they existed in now had apparently had an unusual reaction, feeding and manifesting his misery into physical form. Chuckling in his melancholy, he considered the numerous spontaneous pitiful creatures around him, and made a decision. With a shot from his device, each one dehydrated into a small, doll-like figurine. He then stashed each one carefully away in a pocket inside his white coat. "Remember that this all happened. Remember her. Remember that love exists. Remember Diane," he whispered to no one before stumbling over to pass out face first in his own grave, his tears freely running even in his sleep.

The decaying night moaned its own howl as the three travelers slept, and all three dreamed.


	12. School is in Session

**.∞.**

Mattieu woke up, his form slumped over a modest desk. He had apparently fallen asleep after having a terrible nightmare that he had sold his soul to a chaos god, and then been stranded on a doomed world being consumed by a terrible "Nothing." He breathed, feeling his breaths rise and fall within his breast. He felt strange, almost hungover. This had been one of the worst nightmares he had ever experienced. He opened his eyes.

He was once again in that brightly colored facsimile of a classroom. The Warp. He was in the Warp again! The Commissar felt something pinch his arm, and he sat straight up, startled. Looking to and fro, he saw no sign of his infernal master, but a strange man with pale features bedecked in dark, spiked clothes. A foul sorcerer! Mattieu instinctively reached for his pistol, but once again, found nothing. Breathing heavily for a moment, he remembered his circumstances from before, that his weapons had been taken from him when he was last here, and he slumped with defeat. That man was as damned as he was, he deduced. But why was he here now? The Commissar felt as if the man was as confused as he was. Perhaps another victim of his new Lord's bargains elsewhere in the galaxy? Or perhaps an illusion?

"What?" they both said in unison as they looked upon the other. The strange man in black still looked bewildered, clutching at his own desk now. The man then composed himself, and smiled nervously at Mattieu.

"H-hey, hey!" the man said, standing up abruptly, "Can I try on your coat? And where's your hat? You're going to get blammed, mate!"

"Blammed?" The Commissar did not know what this man meant by that phrase as he saw him get up and cautiously approach his desk. His Lord enjoyed toying with him, and he had to somehow learn to accept his damnation.

As the man approached, he began to stagger, and he screwed up his brow. Something was troubling and confusing him.

In the tepid darkness, the Commissar continued to look at him with pained eyes while gripping his desk. Mattieu let a long, defeated breath go, and started slowly taking off his longcoat as he stood from his desk. "Just don't fight", the advice that the sorcerer John Rufus had suggested to him on the mountain sprung into his mind. _I really just shouldn't fight_, Mattieu thought with defeat.

The stranger continued to advance before him, his steps slower and now, more mechanical. He blinked repeatedly, his eyes lashing in distress. He was clenching his jaw.

He walked closer to the Mattieu, who eyed him with suspicion. It almost seemed as if the man were being pushed by someone from behind. The strange man's eyes widened in sudden, terrible fear as he stopped, and began to speak, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, somehow.

The man began, "Our... lord... shall be with... us both sh-shortly for he hassss-"

At this, Mattieu saw the man dissolve, glitch, and reform. The commissar wheeled back in horror of him, toppling the desk and chair he had been resting upon. What daemonic trickery was this?!

"Has...a g-greater game...to attend to... in M3... still," the stranger completed his delivery clutching at his pale face in a failed attempt to stop himself from speaking. He appeared horrified at his own words, and was clawing at his own face as he observed Mattieu on the floor.

"W-who?" The Commissar dared a question to the confused man in black, "Who are you? Be you a daemon? A sorcerer?"

The man dropped his hands and looked at them accusingly. He then appeared to study his body, touching his torso, his legs, and his face once again. He looked at the Commissar.

"H-how can you understand me? What happened to me? I died!" The man blurted out, "My bike crashed, and I died! And now I'm in here!" He frantically looked about the classroom, clutching his head with his hands, and grabbing at his dark, shoulder length hair. "T-this? This place? Am I in Hell? Are you the Devil? Wait, wait, oh my God, I-"

Mattieu started to pick himself up from the floor, observing the frantic man. This man seemed to be a damned soul who had also been marked claimant by his Lord. The Commissar remembered the dancing words of his Lord in his head before passing out. His Lord had said he had needed to meet a man named... Arin?

"Pardon me," Mattieu began, cautiously, observing as the man continued to half sob-laugh, observing his bizarre surroundings, "Is your name something akin to Arin, or Arron? I think I may know what has happened." He began with trepidation, "What system did you hail from? Did you die in battle?"

"System?" The man stopped his fearful gasping, turned to him, jaw agape. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if seeing a daemon for the first time. Mattieu had seen that look on a soldier's face before, and felt terribly sorry for him. The man's eyes grew wide and he began to shake his head slowly again, "Oh no, mate. Please don't tell me your name is Matteeyew or Matt or something like that!"

"Commissar Mattieu Keres, Carlos McConnell, 5th armored regiment."

The man couldn't speak for a few moments. He mouthed Mattieu's name and title as he began to glance about at their strange classroom again.

"40k is real," the man said to himself, nearly breathlessly. He turned again to the Commissar and began to walk to him. He held out a hand, seemingly in cautious greeting. He looked as if he were holding back tears. Mattieu did not move to touch him.

"My name is Aaron Cassidy. A-and," he took a breath and held it. "And I'm from, um I guess you could say, Terra."

Hearing him say that, the Commissar gasped. A horrifying development! Apparently, his Lord was operating directly on Terra, right under the Throne! He lost his composure for a moment, still not touching Aaron's outstretched hand. "Terra?! He's on Terra?! By the Throne! Is there a conflict on Terra at the present!? Is Chaos set upon us at last?!" He choked out, shocked beyond words.

Aaron reached out and grabbed Mattieu's hand. He flinched, expecting some sort of daemon trickery, but there was none. The man truly seemed to be as damned and as confused as he, and appeared to be as distraught as he had been when he had first appeared. Aaron vigorously shook the Commissar's hand, causing the epaulets on his shoulders to shake.

"Are you real?" Aaron asked him as he continued to shake his hand, leaning in close to him.

Now that he was closer, Mattieu could see the man was perhaps in his late 30s, or early 40s, with very dark hair, brown eyes, and pale skin. His coat held numerous spikes and adornments on its side, possibly indicating a denizen of an underhive, which made his claim that his Lord was on Terra more insidious. His Lord may be operating a clandestine cult under the nose of the Terran Imperial authorities. However, this man did not seem to radiate the palpable madness of a Chaos cultist, and displayed no mutations (at least here). He seemed to be as frightened as Mattieu was at his predicament. Mattieu concluded that he was likely a common criminal with no attachment to Chaos, whatsoever.

"I believe so, yes," Mattieu answered, checking his own body as Aaron let his hand drop to crack his knuckles.

"But, um, mate," Aaron began, searching for words. "Mate, there's something gone wrong here. What year is it where you came from?"

"It is the year 995 of the 41st millennium."

Aaron's eyes grew even wider and he gaped, "Oh my fucking God. Shit is totally fucked. I have bad news for you, mister Commissar."

"What is it?"

"Well, eh. I came here from um, 2012. Which I guess would be M3 to you, which is um, the Age of Terra if I remember my lore alright," Aaron grimaced. "I-I died after talking with this one weird kinda familiar blond guy. There was something really wrong with him I felt, yeah, but you know, you don't want to be weird and he gave me a free soda and seemed nice. I joked that I would, um. That I would sell my-" he couldn't finish his sentence, and clutched at the sides of his head again.

Mattieu simply could not react for a moment at this news. He blanched in horror. "The Age of Terra? M3?! Surely you must be joking! Than that would mean..." That would mean Tzeentch was down in the grim darkness of the far past! What was he trying to do?!

_"Reality's corrupted, timeline's corrupted," _Mattieu remembered Inquisitor Ricard's pained words, as well as his Lord telling him that "time" had started to "stall out" whatever that meant, and that he was trying to "fix" it, somehow. This was an abhorrent thing to consider for humanity, as Tzeentch might be set on wiping out Mankind before it even began!

"I died. Oh my God, I'm dead," Aaron muttered again, sitting heavily down on one of the desk chairs, slumping. Within a few moments, he perked up. "Wait? I died? That means I'm a-!" He looked suspiciously at Mattieu, and did not finish his sentence. He suddenly had a broad smile on his face, which he quickly suppressed. He let out another little laugh. The Commissar remained standing near him, his arms crossed in thoughtful worry.

Just then, in a flash of white brilliance, a newcomer arrived seated adjacent to the two denizens of the strange classroom. A form of white, then cyan, then blue, then many colors, molded itself into the form of a woman wearing dark trousers and modest dark collared shirt. Both occupants of the classroom watched transfixed as she became into being before them.

She was a young, fair woman with a head of straight brown hair, her head laid against the desk in front of her as each of the two men had found themselves inside the strange classroom previously. She appeared asleep. Aaron seemed suspicious, and stood to investigate, leaning down to carefully studying her face, which appeared to be in peaceful repose. He backed up, terror in his eyes once again.

The Commissar whispered, "What is it? Who is this woman, Aaron?"

"Oh man, Matt. What in the fuck is going on in here?" Aaron shook his head, "That bird looks a little like Kelly from Saved by the Bell," Aaron looked back at the Commissar, his expression exuded a terrible unspoken revelation. He started to shake his head, appearing repulsed by what he had discovered. He turned away from them both, and began to walk anxiously in the small room.

"The guy I played the game with," he said as he began to pace, and more to himself than to the Commissar, "He looked just like Zack Morris from Saved by the Bell," he quickly walked about the classroom, seemingly randomly, touching the desks, walls, and reading paper notices tacked to various surfaces. Mattieu did not understand, so he just observed the frantic man and his ramblings. Saved by the Bell? What was that? He had heard he was "Saved in His Hell" but nothing like "Saved by the Bell!" This was getting worse and worse! Tzeentch was physically on Terra during the Age of Terra, and was strong enough to claim this poor man's soul in the same manner that his own had been taken from him!

Aaron finally walked to the front of the strange, dim classroom. He began to write on the blackboard with a piece of white chalk. He spoke the words as he wrote them.

"Zack Morris is Tzeentch. We're saved in his Hell."

"Zac? Is that you? Are we there yet?" The woman sleepily purred in her sleep. She didn't even know yet. Both men looked at her with pity, Aaron dropping his chalk. A strange laughter rang out in Mattieu's mind, and he saw Aaron flinch as well, likely hearing the same thing.

They were saved in his Hell.

**012.M3**

His thoughts were racing again.

Morty Smith nervously closed the book he was reading as he sat outside a convenience store, enjoying a sandwich and a soda. The book he was reading was integrating his thoughts again. Zack Morris from Saved by the Bell was an avatar of Tzeentch. It seemed the Chaos god was trying to create a daemonic Bayside High in the Warp. Also, there was a man named Aaron who had been claimed in the past, but exactly how, he was unsure. There were some gaps in the story. It was as if entire chapters had been omitted, which was frustrating, but he still read onward, hoping it would make sense eventually.

His thoughts raced at top speed. He felt like he was going a little crazy.

Morty thought back once again to last night's 40k tournament with an uncomfortable twinge. His encounter with the strange alien entity that also looked like Zack Morris (he assumed he was a telepathic alien shapeshifter of some kind, but he wasn't sure) had to have been entirely coincidental; his active imagination once was again getting away from him, he assured himself. Shapeshifters weren't that uncommon in the universe, he thought. Rick would probably laugh at him for being such a little pussy for being scared when he finally saw him again.

He just had to keep his feet on the ground, and everything would be okay. It wasn't real, it was only a story. A story that could integrate subconscious thought, and apparently jump dimensions, but still, only a story. 40k and Chaos gods simply could not exist in a normal dimension like this one.

School had been difficult again today. He had done poorly at a math test. This was because had missed the entire first part of school year by being in another reality. No doubt, he had failed it, but he didn't really care since this wasn't his home reality and he assured himself that Rick would definitely be by to claim him at some point. In the meantime, he had tried to summon a semblance of routine in his fake life here to relax. He planned on visiting the Starbucks for a hot chocolate to ward off the chill soon. Morty admitted that he was still a little freaked out by the events from last night.

Secretly, he was both anxious and excited that events in the book seemed more and more coincidental as he read onward. The Inquisitor Ricard had even mentioned The Neverending Story, which was insane, considering the very book he carried was now adorned with the Auryn symbol on the front cover. It hadn't been there when he had first taken the book, but maybe he had just not been paying enough attention. His memories were, admittedly, a little screwed up as of late anyway.

The book wasn't doing this, was it?

He continued to ignore the little voice in his head that told him that he shouldn't read further, but the nameless book was still utterly fascinating. As it progressed, it became even more engrossing, despite not quite making sense. Morty almost felt like he was almost losing bits and pieces of himself into it as he saw familiar seeming characters interact. The Inquisitor Ricard reminded him a lot of his grandfather. The Inquisitor's abrasive demeanor was uncanny, and he even had a flask.

Morty took a sip of his soda, and finished his sandwich. He wondered just how many stories would eventually appear in the crazy book. Saved by the Bell was definitely there, along with Warhammer 40k, and The Neverending Story. Maybe even Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure if that guy John Rufus was the same Rufus like before. It was all inexplicably knitting together like some sort of mad tapestry. He wished he could remember what had happened last time, dammit!

It was just a story, right?

He wondered if Zack Morris would make an appearance again, both as a Chaos god in the story and as the strange man he had seen last night. Zack Morris as the Chaos god Tzeentch in actual real life would be terrifying and hilarious at the same time. It did make sense in a backwards sort of way, seeing as how Zack was always plotting elaborate schemes that would often collapse under their own weight in the TV show, which was also Tzeentch's deal with basically everything in the 40k universe. The real life Zack doppleganger he had seen last night couldn't _actually_ be Tzeentch here on earth though, right? Was this why earth was so fucked up? Morty nervously giggled, and fought the urge to continue reading again to find out.

Two old women walked out of the shop, gossiping. "...and they got power back around 2am last night. That man, bless his soul, he died, but he's always been trouble with that motorcycle, squealing about town. It was bound to happen sooner or later!" The two old hens clucked as they stepped into a station wagon.

A pause as they drove away. His racing thoughts fractured, just a bit.

Morty looked at the dark book, and traced his fingers along the two coiled serpents that made up the "Auryn" medallion on the cover. "Read me!" it almost seemed to cry out to him. So far, much of it didn't make sense, but the temptation to read it was overwhelming. He still knew that he had read this book before, and his strange sense of deja vu only increased as he read onward once again. That was all well and good, he surrendered, since he could now experience it all over again, which was fun.

A strange, intrusive thought came to him. He wondered then, just for a second, if this book existed in its entirety in some other reality, describing him reading here and his adventures. Would it all link together somewhere else, since he was a part of the story as an integral character as the reader who was making things happen? Perhaps all he existed as here was a sequence of words and mental images in the minds of those reading a page in some other reality? Or maybe he was a character on a television show? That wasn't a good thought, he shuddered. Now that would be some weird shit! Morty held his head in a hand as he studied the cover of the book, slouched on the curb. The shimmering medallion of the two serpents glittered in the grey light.

He again felt an overwhelming compulsion to continue reading. Nothing had fascinated him as much as this aberrant tale. It was undoubtedly, extremely supernaturally powerful.

Another person walked out of the convenience store. A dark, pale man with shoulder length hair in a motorcycle jacket passed by him, mechanically eating a bag of Cheetoes. The man was wearing all black, and seemed deeply unsettling. Black eyes watched as Morty held the book. The man didn't blink as Morty noticed that he was actually staring at the book. He stopped and stared with intensity a couple meters away, expressionless.

Something was wrong with this man.

Feeling possessive, Morty took the book and clutched it to his chest, the Auryn aligned with his heart. He stared back. "D-do I know you, sir?"

The man did not respond; he simply stood there, straight backed, arms at his side looking at the book in his arms. His eyes were very cold, and very black. It reminded him of the penetrating, unsettling gaze of the Zack Morris entity. A gust of wind blew through the car lot as he continued to stare. It became colder as clouds swallowed the sun. A rumble of thunder, and Morty shivered. What was up with this guy? He hoped it wasn't another alien thing like had met last night. Unlike the one that looked like Zack Morris, this one was entirely unfamiliar.

The dark man then brought a wristwatch up to his eyes, and then, unblinking, turned his head up to the sky. A lash of lightning, somehow before the thunder, which was impossible. Returning his abyssal eyes to the book, he walked up to Morty then, who was now frozen in place by fear. Time seemed to slow as the man stood over him, his face a pale mockery of humanity.

_"Just don't fight..."_ the shadowy man croaked as he retrieved an envelope from inside his jacket. His voice sounded... almost backwards? What in the hell? Morty, against his own judgement, took the note with a shaking hand. The man nodded in cryptic acknowledgement.

And then, just like that, the man turned around and walked away. Turning left, he walked behind the store, and the strange encounter was over. The weather nearly immediately began to clear up when the man walked out of sight. Startled, Morty held the strange sealed envelope in his hand. A cold sweat began to race across his entire body. Who, or what, was that?! That guy felt like some sort of death monster, or something! Holy shit! Even the weather had suddenly gone off when he had shown up. Morty stood, still holding the mysterious letter, perspiration heavily beading over every bit of his skin. He placed the book in his backpack along with the envelope. Even the sky had become darker after that guy had shown up!

Looking at the sky, an even more chilling suspicion rose within him. "Wait, no, that can't be," a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Morty pulled out his mobile phone, and saw that two hours had passed in the span of ten minutes. The sun would be down soon. What did the strange man mean by saying "Just don't fight?" What the Hell was going on? They keep saying that in the fucking story! Just then, his fake father texted him, and the notification frightened him. He nearly jumped out of his skin with fright! "Woah!"

_"Let me know when you'll be home, son. I know you'll be at the Starbucks soon. Hope you're having fun! Just checking in!"_

With a chilled shake, Morty brought himself back to reality. He was very disoriented, and maybe he had just passed out on the bench from the temporal jet lag? Dimension jumping sometimes had drawbacks. He was certainly very cold, and maybe he was coming down with something too? Yeah, a hot chocolate would be good. He began to walk to the local Starbucks, and took out the fascinating book to read here and there along the way.

The shadowy man on the motorcycle watched the boy, and nearly silently rode away. In the near future, time had begun to fracture, just a bit.


	13. The Fates Align at Starbucks

**012.M3**

"What a refreshing morning in the happy brightness of the third millennium!" Zac quipped as he strode into the cafe, a small skip in his step and a rucksack over his shoulder. He had a coffee/travel date with Kelly, the cute girl who played Dungeons and Dragons that all the nerds drooled over. Or, he would have a date with Kelly. He had followed her to her usual haunt at the local Starbucks down the street from his flat. She usually spent her afternoons writing or drawing while enjoying a mocha. He liked that, and he had decided that he would run into her today after last night's fun events.

He also had someone to meet here too. A few someone elses directly involved in his future.

Pushing the door open, Zac walked up to the small queue, and made small talk about the weather, which was received in the typical English fashion. To his left, he saw Kelly, elbow deep in sketchbooks and colored pencils at a small table. To his right, he saw a man typing on a laptop, scratching at his head, surrounded by a few other nerds. His eyes narrowed. Kelly actually wasn't the only reason he had to be here today, although she was quite the lovely bonus and would be a brilliant addition to his project. These particular three men were of special interest to him. Just a quick nudge in a direction, and a temporal error would be corrected. That stupid Nothing was on its way to being Something again, he grinned. He still had a few extra "dings" to repair in the timeline, but this particular fault repair would give time itself some room to progress, giving it some space to live, breathe, and hope again. The full "job" itself needed to happen in stages, some many years apart, and this one was an important step. At least it wasn't as annoying and as dangerous as when he was prowling around an abandoned subway in New York City on New Years Eve in 1999, or when a different aspect of him blew himself up in 1984 in the USSR. Both were serious pains and he was glad that dirty business was finished. Distracted in this thoughts once again, he was brought back at the present by the queue complaining about the drizzle outside. English bitching about the weather was boring, so it suddenly became sunny again. Someone went "Oh, well look at that! Guess that man went to heaven last night."

Zac knew who he meant. And he didn't go to heaven. And neither would these nerds at the table, if he played their cards right, which he always did.

"What can I get for you today sir?" The plucky barista asked.

"I'd like a quadruple tall macchiato with extra whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles, please!" Zac beamed. The cashier flinched, "Rainbow sprinkles? But we?" An employee behind her informed her that they had mistakenly ordered rainbow sprinkles the other week, and that they had just arrived unexpectedly today, despite it being a Sunday. "Well, looks like you're in luck! One uh, quad tall macchiato with extra whip and rainbow sprinkles coming up! Name please?"

"Zac Morris, but without the "K""

The barista choked a laugh as she wrote his name on his cup. "Hah, well, you probably get that a lot. You do sorta look like him."

"I do get that a lot!" Zac was now in a good mood, and paid with a conjured note of £50, telling the barista to keep the change. Change, haha! Before handing the note out, he imbued it with a random power of change that would offer exalting elevation or crushing despair to those who beheld it. Randomized, of course. He giggled as he handed it over. The barista seemed overjoyed and squealed. He enjoyed his Great Game, even with the mortals.

Waiting for his drink, he quietly observed his target of the round table of nerds chattering a few meters away. This seemed to be an informal business meeting.

"I really don't know how we can boost sales. They've been flagging!" One said, adjusting his glasses.

"Well, maybe if we didn't charge a billion quid for one model an-" his associate cut him off with a laugh.

"Our business is togetherness. It is a wargaming hobby that brings people together. I blame the goddamned internet and video games for all of this. People aren't that into this anymore, and we might be in trouble. There's been pressure to advance the timeline, but I rather like the mystery of having it remain five years away from the 42nd millennium." A chubbier nerd said, tapping his fingers.

The timeline needed to advance. He approached the nerds.

"Hey boys," Zac interjected with a smile, causing all three to look up at who would dare interject on their English privacy. "Having a fun afternoon here? I am! I couldn't help but overhear what you were talking about there, and I happen to be kind of a content creator myself, so if you don't mind..." he reached out without looking behind him to retrieve his absolutely ridiculous drink and with two strides, sat directly at their table.

He regarded each one of the three men, and smiled, peering into their souls, which he could easily see he owned. Another aspect of himself would eventually catch the attention of these men in the future, confirming that they were owned by him and his schemes.

"And eh, who are you?"

"No one really that important. At least like, right now. Anyway, again, just think of me as a content creator. I've been around for awhile, and I see you guys have a problem here. I want to help fix it. But, I'm pleased to finally meet you, but I don't think you'll guess my name. Well, not just yet, anyway. Just don't ignore the Author, advice to the wise," Zac laughed.

The three English nerds seemed very awkward at this. One seemed to ponder something, and adjusted a small ring on his hand. He studied the face of the strange blond man for a moment as he sipped his insane coffee, and went, "Okay, what do you have to say then?"

This is what Zac needed to hear. He conjured a sheet of paper from his back pocket, detailing things that had not yet come to pass that needed to pass, lest their business fail. Two of the nerds seemed flustered, and seemed to want the strange blond man to go away, but were too English to say anything. The third listened with rapt attention, noting what the man said concerning the stock market, and global geopolitical trends. The third seemed quite fascinated by this stranger.

After a quick ten minutes detailing the resurrection of a primarch, and Cadia finally falling, Zac stood up and shook the hand of the third man, who also stood.

The third man shuddered as he beheld Zac's eyes. Zac whispered telepathically to him "_Gonna be some weird shit going down in about six or seven years, just a warning, pal. Don't fight those weird international inquiries from the United States Government once they start to finally catch on! The Author is over there. Help the Author, and your business both survives and thrives. Don't forget! And, of course, you're all saved in my Hell!"_

The third man seemed briefly unnerved, but quickly recovered. He mouthed the words "US Government?" and sipped his tea, puzzled. Zac took out his little black book, and made a notation.

_Note 31, minor fault repaired. Cadia confirmed down.._

The three nerds began to chat between themselves, the third gesturing to the sheet of paper and nodding. With a snap that had gone unnoticed by everyone but Zac, an orange hamburger appeared next to him on the table as the nerds spoke, distracted. Zac scowled at the thing. It was disgusting. Ugh.

He willed the orange hamburger away, and it vanished from existence. He opened his black book once again, and angrily began writing. Damn!

_Author Shard confirmed to realm of Manipulator Lords. Problem. New fault confirmed. Fuck you, Nurgle. Positive: doorway to new realm open. Aspect of self in new Materium._

The man he had been talking to began arguing with his companions as Zac abruptly took the remaining 2/3 of his psychotic sugar beverage over to Kelly on the other side of the cafe, who was immersed in her work. She was drawing a unicorn.

"Hey sweet cheeks, how's it going?" He said with a bright smile, sitting down.

"Oh, um," Kelly's cheeks flushed, and she grinned slyly. "Hey Zac. How are you? Lovely afternoon. The sunshine is out and-"

Zac interrupted her from her small talk about the weather, and said "You know, your hair is beautiful today! Any new product you've been using? You look like a late 80s, early 90s supermodel!" His grin became wider as he began to sense the fantasy radiating out from her due to his flattery. She was just perfect for his project. He liked talking to her, and he needed to get her out of this stupid country.

Kelly continued to smile sweetly, even blushing a little as she flipped her lovely shiny hair over her shoulder. Zac even considered that Magnus should take haircare tips from her, and made a mental note to drag his red ass out of his tower for a lesson on style when he was back home. He giggled at his own vision, and Kelly giggled back in turn, oblivious to his actual intention.

"So, Kell, I thought you were supposed to be gone by now?" He asked. Kelly was an American, and was here on a work visa as an in house artist. She had applied for a few month leave of absence when her job had become too stressful, and her nightmares had escalated. Her bad dreams had coincidentally started when Zac had begun showing up at the game shop, and he had shown an interest in her.

She sighed heavily. "Well, I had so much going on and I thought the flight was for the afternoon, when it was really for early this morning. I really screwed up. They won't even reschedule me. I want to see my friends back home so bad and now I don't think I can afford it." She held her hand on her forehead, clearly upset at her situation.

"Well, how about I make your day, Kell. It just so happens I have some frequent flier miles to burn, and I can get you that ticket out on the same day I'm leaving, which would have to be in a few hours. I assume you already packed. I have to make this decision soon, international travel and all," he both lied and pressured her. He needed to both check on a fault in the United States, and to get a "Kelly" for his little project. He didn't have the same skills of seduction that his future sibling would have, but he did have some influence, even in this magic-weak age.

Kelly's face lit up in surprise. "Wait, are you for real? Zac? Seriously? No, no, you're kidding."

"Of course! I fly a lot, and I have a little business to attend to in the area anyway. I figured I could take care of that and then we could have some fun over there!" He answered.

_Hurry up, Kelly. Glenn is going to show up here in about three minutes_, Zac thought nervously, nearly smelling the fedora-ed behemoth trudging his way downtown for his double venti double fat double sugar double obesity whatever-the-fuck-it-was drink he always got around this time when he would also show up to "say hello" to Kelly. Ugh. Fucking Glenn.

"I... I don't know what to say. I haven't unpacked or anything and I haven't cancelled my pickup in New York so..." Zac reached over and touched her arm, looking deep into her eyes. He felt a flush pass through her. _Slaanesh, eat your eventual heart out_, he thought with satisfaction.

"It really isn't any trouble. Plus, I hate flying alone. I'd have to do this like, right now, though."

Two minutes. Hurry up and agree, Kelly.

Kelly thought for a moment, still lost in Zac's eyes, until she smiled widely and went "Yes! Yes, of course! I-I even have my passport here," She produced the small book from her satchel.

One minute, thirty seconds.

Zac, took the book, and taking out his phone, and with preternaturally quickness entered a series of numbers, her name, her identity, and all information needed. He even knew that she had two checked bags, and accounted for them.

45 seconds.

"There, all done! You'll be flying out of Heathrow in about three hours. I have a car that'll take us there and everything soon. Plus, your friends sound super cool. I'd love to meet them. Glenn talks about them all the time."

Kelly beamed, happy tears in her eyes, and slung her arms around Zac's neck, happy and nearly hopping with glee.

"I'll get to see my friends again! I miss them so much. Glenn and I share the same friend group, you know! You'll get to meet Jessica, Brigitte, and Lisa! They're all so awesome and they're really fun!"

_Jessica, Lisa_... Zac smiled at that. Tee hee.

A loud clambering of someone shoving their body against a door to open it instead of using their hands interrupted their buzzing. Speak of the Nurgle.

Glenn had arrived, and in the same clothes he had been wearing yesterday. He had been incidentally noticed by the three nerds still arguing on the opposite side of the cafe, who turned their backs to him. They had apparently also had rough encounters with the Great Unclean One. He buffed into the queue, a backpack on his back, and his eternal fedora playing eternal warrior on his head.

Turning his head, he saw Zac and Kelly smiling at table to his left, and he scowled a moment before waving shyly at Kelly, who waved politely back.

"He's nice, but well, Glenn is weird," Kelly giggled. "He keeps trying to do this whole "I'm a nice guy why don't you date me" thing with me but I'm not into him like that. He's not my type," She stroked a finger down Zac's arm. Tee hee!

Zac smiled as he saw Glenn's face sour. He turned to order his monstrous Nurgle drink. He saw the barista flinch at his breath. Across the cafe, he saw the three nerds he had spoken with before pack up quickly and leave, not wanting to talk to that man. The third man he had talked to gave him a short nod, and whispered "thank you!" to Zac before escaping the area.

After a short bit of chatting about the New York City area, and the area of Bailey Downs in New Jersey, where her friends were located, Glenn had received his drink. He trundled over to them, uninvited, and placed his Caspian Sea-sized drink down on their table.

Looking at the two of them, but keeping his attention on Kelly, he began. "Aaron died last night, guys."

"Aaron?" Kelly didn't know him.

"You know, the guy who won the tournament that kept rolling sixes and everything? Motorcycle accident. Caused that power outage last night!" Glenn gave a cautious glance to Zac, and looked away.

"Did you know that dude well, Glenn?" Zac asked.

Glenn didn't really seem like he wanted to talk to Zac, and Zac just seemed to shrug and sip from the remainder of his drink. The neckbeard turned his attention to Kelly. "I just wanted you to know there's gonna be a memorial for him in the next week sometime. The shop will be there."

"Oh, Glenn, you know I have a flight back home today," Kelly said, now fidgeting with her hair.

"Wait, I thought you said that you missed it earlier on Facebook?"

"I rescheduled. It wasn't so hard. I leave in a few hours now," she said with a smile, batting her eyelashes at Zac. Glenn noticed this, but tried to ignore it and sighed heavily, adjusting his glued-on hat. There was an awkward silence as Glenn planted his massive posterior on the chair. Zac absolutely hated awkward pauses, but he didn't have to wait long for an interruption.

Something made Zac's psychic senses perk up, and his eyes lifted and turned. A disturbance. A minor rift, and nearby. His eyes shifted his vision a touch down for a fraction of a moment, and saw a tangle of threads of relativity and causality bending outward from the washroom area.

Good, he was successful, Zac smiled to himself...

...but not entirely. Zac frowned to himself.

A portal gun.

"Excuse me, guys. I have to use the little god's room," he said with a chirp. He didn't stick around to hear their reaction to the word "god".

Zac walked down the hall toward the disturbance, a light burning out overhead as he moved. He felt the threads of probability snap back into proper configuration, and he waited, leaning against the wall next to the men's restroom.

He took out his black notebook. _Note 44, Empress saved. The Nothing halted_. He wrote. With a few blinks, he set his eye to the far decaying future, and a flash of disgust grazed his features. _Note 45, Time stalled at last moment. Rick, failure. Mattieu, backup._

A disheveled man with wild white hair that stood on end in his 70s and wearing a long white coat burst out of the door. He seemed dizzy, weary, and a line of drool fell from his mouth. A few steps into the hall, and he wheezed. He looked to be holding back tears. He was bent over coughing, and with some effort, straightened himself up, only to see Zac right in front of him. His eyes widened in absolute horror. "You!" He gasped.

"Yes. _Me_," Zac grinned viciously. He angled both of his thumbs at his chest. "In the _flesh_."

The man wheezed as he held his hands on his knees, clearly very ill. "Nearest... hospital... need..." he vomited a small amount of bile on the floor as he struggled to hold himself up.

"Atropine. And you need it in 32 minutes. Lucky for you, a hospital is right down the street. Take a left at Sycamore road. Can't miss it," Zac sipped from his cup, unfazed.

The thin old man didn't move for a moment. He seemed to cry a bit more, "W-why? Why did this all happen? Please tell me. Why am I here?"

"You know the answer, buddy. Now get going. And come back after you're done. Give it a few hours. Your Morty usually comes in through here later. Come here around closing, and you won't miss him. If you're here, he said the name, so hurray for you. Too bad about you forgetting to re-wish time to ignite again, but I guess I can't expect much from you mortals."

The man looked at him with pain, rage, and sorrow in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to strike Zac.

"You better get going, Rick. That poison will kill you soon. You can blame Morty for this. You always do, anyway."


End file.
